ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 


LILLIAN  AND  DOROTHY  GISH  AS  THE  TWO  ORPHANS  IN   3    \V 

GRIFFITH'S  ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM.  frontispiece. 


"ORPHANS 
OF  THE  STORM 

A  COMPLETE  NOVEL 


FROM  D.  W.  GRIFFITH'S  MOTION  PICTURE 
EPIC  ON  THE  IMMORTAL  THEME  OF 

THE  TWO  ORPHANS 

1. 

NOVELIZED  BY 

HENRY  MAC  MAHON 


IJY1AC 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH   SCENES  FROM 
THE  PHOTO-PLAY 


GROSSET     &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 

Made  in  the  United  Stales  of  America 


Copyright  1922 
BY   HENRY  MACMAHON 


All  rights  reserved,  including  those  of  translation 
into  foreign  languages. 


PS 

"5525 


CONTENTS 


I.  Two  GIRLS  OF  NORMANDY 1 

II.  THE  JOURNEY  TO  PARIS 5 

III.  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  COACH  HOUSE  ..  12 

IV.  THE  FETE  OF  BEL-AIR     20 

V.  FETE  OF  BEL-AIR  (CONTINUED) 27 

VI.  IN  THE  FROCHARDS'  DEN 33 

VII.  TANGLED  SKEINS     38 

VIII.  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  FAMILY 46 

IX.  "FRIENDS  OF  THE  PEOPLE"    ..    ..    «    ..    ..  54 

X.  THE  ATTACK  ON  DANTON    ..........  61 

XL  LOUISE  BEFORE  NOTRE  DAME     67 

XII.  LOVE,  MASTER  OF  HEARTS 72 

XIII.  THE  RECOGNITION 76 

XIV.  DOWN  IN  THE  DEPTHS     84 

XV.  LIGHT  RAYS  IN  THE  DARKNESS 91 

XVI.  THE  REVOLUTION  Is  HERE! 180 


1446588 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII.  PRISON  DELIVERY — AND  AN  ENCOUNTER   ..  108 

XVIII.  "THERE  Is  No  LAW"—    114 

XIX.  KNIFE  DUEL  AND  ESCAPE 124 

XX.  THE  NEW  TYRANNY 129 

XXI.  ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM     136 

XXII.  ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM  (CONTINUED)   ..  142 

XXIII.  BEFORE  THE  DREAD  TRIBUNAL    149 

XXIV.  VENGEANCE  COME  TO  JUDGMENT     156 

XXV.  THE  VOICE  OF  DANTON     160 

XXVI.  REPRIEVE  OR  AGONY    169 

XXVII.  THE  FAREWELL  ..    ..    .    173 

XXVIII.  MANIAC  WITH  A  DAGGER 178 

XXIX.  DANTON'S  RIDERS    ..  184 

XXX.  THE  AFTERMATH     191 


ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 


ORPHANS  OF 
THE  STORM 

CHAPTER  I 

TWO  GIRLS  OF  NORMANDY 

In  all  the  countryside  of  Evreux,  nay  in 
all  the  beauteous  old-time  Normandy  of 
the  period  of  1789,  there  were  no  lovelier 
files  du  peuple  than  Henriette  and  Louise 
Girard. 

Their  romantic  story  was  often  whis- 
pered by  country  gossips.  In  infancy 
foundlings  on  the  church  steps  of  Notre 
Dame,  then  brought  to  this  quiet  Norman 
backwater  by  the  Girards  and  raised  as 
sisters,  they  had  lost  both  their  protectors 
by  death.  The  same  visitation  of  the  dread 
plague  had  cost  poor  little  Louise  her  eye- 
sight. 

Since  the  orphaning  and  especially  since 
the  blindness  of  Louise,  Henriette  cared 
for  her  with  a  love  overwhelming  as  that  of 
a  mother  for  her  helpless  baby.  She  looked 
forward  eagerly  to  the  day  when  they 


2        ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

might  leave  the  kinswoman's  where  they 
were  staying  and  go  to  Paris. 

A  local  doctor  had  imparted  a  precious 
ray  of  hope. 

"As  for  me,  voila!  I  can  do  nothing," 
he  said.  "Mais,  is  it  not  that  there  are 
learned  faculties  in  Paris — men  skilled  in 
chirurgery  even  to  the  taking  off  of  cata- 
racts and  the  restoration  of  sight?  Of  a 
truth,  yes!  En  avant,  mes  enfants!  Let 
Monsieur  Martin,  your  ancient  cousin  in 
Paris,  have  the  care  of  you  whilst  the 
chirurgeons  exert  their  skill — presto!  if  all 
goes  well,  the  little  one  shall  yet  see!" 

Henriette's  heart  thumped  with  joy  o'er 
the  cheering  prospect.  She  kissed  and 
fondled  Louise  and  even  teased  her.  Read- 
ing or  chatting  to  the  blind  girl,  sewing  her 
frocks  or  performing  a  thousand  and  one 
kindly  services,  her  sole  thought  was  to 
distract  and  enliven  the  prisoned  soul  be- 
hind the  darkened  windows. 

And  so  a  broad  smile  crossed  the  lovely 
sightless  features  and  even  the  dulled  orbs 
radiated  a  little  as  Henriette  excitedly  told 
the  details  of  the  proposed  trip,  and  teased: 

" — And,  oh,  yes — I  forgot — when  Miss 
'Baby's  eyes  are  quite  well,  I  shall  sit  down 


TWO  GIRLS  OF  NORMANDY      3 

like  a  lady — and  you'll  do  all  the  work !" 

They  were  quite  in  a  fever  .af  delighted 
ardor  over  the  preparations  for  the  journey. 

Elder  sister,  attending  to  everything, 
pronounced  it  perfect  with  gay  little  pats 
of  quaint  panniered  costumes,  fitting  of 
banded  sailor  hats  o'er  white  coifs,  recurling 
of  ringlets,  and  dainty  polishing  of  slippers. 
The  graceful  little  figures  seemed  elfin  and 
fairy-like  in  the  half  sleeves  and  low  cor- 
sages of  tight  bodices  from  which  depended 
enormously  full  skirts  set  off  by  cute  pina- 
fores. 

Round  boxes,  baskets  or  bags  on  either 
arm  and  even  the  rainy-day  umbrella,  they 
waited  in  delicious  expectancy  the  serving 
man  fetching  the  brass -studded  cowhide 
trunk,  to  the  very  last  moment  when  to 
Henriette's  surprise  the  blind  girl  pouted 
and  drew  back ! 

She  groped  until  her  fingers  touched  a 
chair,  then  sat  down — kerplump! 

"I  won't  go!"  announced  Louise  firmly. 
"Y-you'll  meet  somebody  or  other  in  Paris 
• — get  married — and — and — I'll  be  left  all 
alone!" 

The  little  general  of  the  expedition  paced 
hurriedly  up  and  down  the  floor  like  a 


4       ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Napoleon  at  Elba.  Shocked  surprise  at 
Louise's  awful  insinuation  struggled  with 
panic  fear.  At  last  Henriette  faced  her 
sister  squarely.  She  came  over  and  knelt 
beside  her  chair,  raising  a  small  hand  to 
high  Heaven. 

"Desert  you  for  a  Man!"  said  Henriette, 
breathlessly.  "Why,  the  very  idea  that  I 
could  ever  think  such  a  thing.  Dear,  here 
is  my  right  hand ;  take  it  and  bear  witness : 
I  solemnly  swear  never  to  marry  till  you 
yourself  can  see  and  approve  my  husband!" 

The  left  hand  of  Louise  traveled  up  till 
it  met  and  lay  flat  on  the  other's  upraised 
palm.  An  expression  of  happiness  over- 
spread the  blind  girl's  face.  She  leaned 
over  and  kissed  her  sister.  The  two  girls 
rose  and  left  the  old  home  of  Evreux. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  JOURNEY  TO  PARIS 

Locomotion  in  those  pre-railroad  days 
was  by  stage  coach  except  for  the  rich  and 
noble  who  rode  in  their  chaises.  The  way 
of  the  diligence  led  past  winding  streams 
and  bright  meadows  busy  with  haymakers ; 
past  picturesque  water  mills  and  stone 
chateaux,  anon  along  tree-shaded  avenues 
grateful  in  their  coolness. 

Hard  as  the  leathern  seats  were  and  how- 
ever wearisome  the  ride,  the  girls  forgot 
discomfort  in  Henriette's  description  of  the 
sights  and  scenes  and  Louise's  just  as  eager 
listening.  Then  at  the  stops  the  young 
women  would  get  out  and  stretch  their 
weary  limbs  whereof  they  suddenly  became 
aware  as  the  motion  ceased.  They  were 
the  only  passengers,  with  unlimited  time 
for  the  naive  confidences  which  girlhood 
loves. 

"Are  you  sure  that  Cousin  Martin  will 
really  meet  us  at  the  Paris  coach  house?" 
asked  the  blind  sister  anxiously. 

"I  wrote  him  that  we  were  coming,"  re- 


6        ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

plied  Henriette  simply.  "Of  course  he  will 
be  there  and  awaiting  our  arrival." 

"But  if  he  should  not — " 

"Then,  we  have  his  address  and  will  go 
to  his  house.  Never  fear,  little  sister,  it 
will  be  all  right  .  .  ." 

The  lumbering  coach-and-six  did  its  hun- 
dred miles  a  day,  bad  roads  or  good  roads. 
But  within  a  few  miles  of  Paris  a  whiffle- 
tree  broke,  the  ungainly  vehicle  stopped, 
and  the  men  jumped  off  to  hold  the  horses 
and  repair  the  damage.  Henriette  and 
Louise  soon  left  the  hard  seats  for  a  few 
minutes  too. 

Down  the  other  side  of  the  narrow  turn 
of  the  road  where  the  accident  had  oc- 
curred, thundered  the  beautiful  carved  and 
gilded  chaise  of  a  famous  nobleman,  Mar- 
quis de  Praille,  accompanied  by  gallant  out- 
riders and  backed  by  liveried  footmen  on 
the  high  rear  seats.  Inside  the  equipage 
were  the  Marquis  and  his  commissionaire 
La  Fleur. 

The  black  and  dusty  old  stage  coach 
blocked  the  way. 

As  the  aristocrat's  journey  rudely 
stopped,  with  the  chaise  horses  thrown 
back  on  their  haunches,  a  bewigged  and 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  PARIS         7 

powdered  head  was  thrust  out  of  the  win- 
dow, roaring: 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?" 

Descending  presently  with  his  follower 
to  survey  the  scene,  the  noble  Marquis  en- 
raged at  the  blocking  of  his  day's  pleasuring 
belabored  the  chief  ostler  with  his  cane. 
Smartly  the  blows  rained  down  on  the 
cowering  sufferer,  alternate  right  and  left 
in  rhythmic  strokes  that  touched  each  and 
several  part  of  the  canaille  anatomy. 

This  gentle  exercise  finished,  the  Mar- 
quis espied  around  the  corner  of  the  coach 
the  two  young  passengers.  Another  side 
of  the  Grand  Seigneur's  nature  disclosed 
itself. 

Mon  Dieu,  what  a  vision!  Blue  eyes, 
yellow  ringlets  framing  most  kissable  fea- 
tures, dainty  form,  twinkling  feet,  flower- 
like  elegance — a  rustic  Psyche  far  more  to 
be  desired  than  the  ladies  of  the  Court! 
The  Marquis  hardly  looked  twice  at  the 
blind  girl.  All  his  glances  were  for  Hen- 
riette. 

Self-conscious,  the  noble  gentleman 
plumed  and  preened.  Patting  down  his 
somewhat  ruffled  apparel,  adjusting  his 
fashionable  wig  and  peruke,  and  touching 


8        ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

up  his  mouth  with  the  lipstick  that  the  dan- 
dies of  that  age  carried,  he  advanced  ele- 
gantly upon  the  young  women,  cane  in 
one  hand  and  the  other  toying  delicately 
with  a  hand  muff. 

Henriette  curtsied  and  smiled,  and  bade 
Louise  do  the  same.  They  knew  not  the 
ways  of  Courts,  but  native  courtesy  and 
naive  simplicity  were  theirs.  Presently  the 
elder  girl  found  herself  telling  the  distin- 
guished personage  all  the  details  of  their 
trip,  the  appointment  with  M.  Martin,  and 
the  hope  of  curing  Louise  by  a  visit  to  the 
Faculty. 

The  gallant  de  Praille,  all  bows  and 
smirks,  was  offering  them  the  hospitality 
of  the  chaise.  What  a  grand  stranger, 
truly !  A  regal  caress  of  Henriette's  fingers 
in  the  handclasp.  Most  patronizing  (or 
was  it  odious  familiarity?)  his  dainty  touch 
of  her  bare  arms;  the  jeweled  hand  that 
toyed  with  her  ringlets;  the  dexterous  move 
as  if  to  encircle  her  waist ;  the  playing — in 
the  airiest,  most  fluttering  manner  imagin- 
able— with  the  lace  that  draped  her  ador- 
able little  bosom! 

Quietly  Henriette  replied  to  his  over- 
tures : 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  PARIS         9 

"No,  monsieur,  I  think  it  is  best  that  we 
go  in  our  own  coach !" 

The  chastiser  of  canaille  and  charmer  of 
ladies  did  not  seem  a  whit  abashed.  Paying 
them  ceremonious  farewell,  he  withdrew 
and  repaired  to  his  equipage,  the  road  for 
which  was  now  clear.  The  girls  stqod  a 
minute  giggling  at  his  mannerisms,  as 
Henriette  described  his  finery  and  imitated 
his  peacock  airs. 

The  girls  would  not  have  smiled  had  they 
understood.  La  Fleur,  whom  they  had 
scarcely  noticed,  was  the  pander  pf  the 
Marquis's  vices.  The  two  were  deep  in 
plot.  'Twas  whispered  talk,  but  a  chance 
bystander  might  at  least  have  overheard 
the  words : 

".  .  .At  my  fete  of  Bel-Air — make  no 
mistake,  La  Fleur — I  rely  on  you.  One 
hundred  louis,  the  reward  ..." 

Or  another  scene  that  marked  de  Praille's 
entry  into  Paris,  might  have  interested 
them.  Driving  recklessly  to  make  up  time 
lost  in  the  blockade,  the  nobleman's  equip- 
age knocked  down  and  ran  over  a  luckless 
denizen  of  the  faubourgs.  Carelessly  fling- 
ing out  gold  to  the  relatives  of  the  dead 
woman  who  were  sobbing  or  cursing  him, 


10      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

he  leaned  forward  and  inquired  most 
solicitously  of  the  driver: 

"But — are  the  horses  /mrfP" 

Indeed  the  nobles  of  that  time  regarded 
the  masses  as  little  if  any  superior  to  cattle 
or  any  other  of  their  possessions. 

In  the  country  the  common  man  toiled 
a  serf  without  wages,  for  his  master ;  while 
in  Paris  itself,  the  centre  of  gayety  and 
fashion,  the  fruit  of  his  toil  was  expended 
by  the  aristocrats  in  prodigal  luxury. 

The  bourgeoisie  or  middle  class  bore  the 
brunt  of  the  taxes.  A  gay  parasitic  ele- 
ment, the  demi-monde,  ministered  to 
the  nobles'  pleasures.  Below,  the  "sub- 
merged tenth"  of  the  thievish  and  begging 
classes  plied  their  questionable  trades,  with 
a  large  margin  of  the  city's  population  on 
the  very  verge  of  starvation. 

It  hints  eloquently  of  the  terrible  condi- 
tions that  there  were  no  less  than  thirty 
thousand  professional  beggars  in  Paris  at 
this  time.  Their  wan,  pinched  faces,  gaunt 
forms  and  palsied  vitality  were  an  out- 
standing reproach  to  a  flower-like  but  de- 
cadent aristocratic  culture  founded  on  the 
muck  of  cruelty  and  oppression. 

Nothing  had  the  girls   (or  the  simple- 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  PARIS       11 

minded  country  Doctor  who  sped  them) 
known  of  the  dangers  or  pitfalls  of  the 
city.  Vile  gallantry  or  viler  underworld 
was  looking  for  just  such  prey  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  III 

WHAT  HAPPENED  AT   THE  COACH   HOUSE 

The  Normandy-Paris  stage  swung  into 
the  city  as  the  shades  of  evening  were  fall- 
ing and  deposited  our  heroines  at  journey's 
end  in  a  little  square  beyond  the  Pont  Neuf 
where  the  coach  house  was  situated.  As 
they  alighted,  cries  of  "Sedan!  Sedan 
chair!"  were  heard.  Brawling  chairmen 
"mixed  it"  with  pummeling  fists  and  kick- 
ing legs  to  be  in  the  front  lines  for  the 
passengers'  custom. 

'Twas  a  terrifying  scene  from  which  they 
were  glad  to  escape  to  a  side  bench  whence 
they  watched  the  homeward  hurrying 
throngs  and  looked  vainly  for  Monsieur 
Martin.  As  in  the  country,  Henriette  tried 
to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  divers  and 
sundry  folk,  but  it  was  no  use.  They  gave 
her  queer  looks  or  hurried  on,  as  if  stone 
deaf. 

"They  simply  pay  no  attention  to  you 
here!"  she  complained  to  Louise,  "but 
never  mind!  Cousin  Martin  will  come 
soon,  and  take  us  to  his  home." 


AT  THE  COACH  HOUSE         13 

Presently  the  city  lamplighter  was  light- 
ing the  street  lantern  above  them;  he  went 
his  way  and  the  Place  was  deserted. 

There  Tvas  a  man  lurking  in  the  shadows 
of  a  portico  nearby,  though  'twould  some- 
what strain  credulity  to  imagine  him  the 
elderly  tradesman  Martin.  He  was  a 
powerful  and  burly  figure,  black  habited, 
of  impudent  visage  quite  unlike  a  gentle 
relative's.  In  the  deeper  shadows  back  of 
him  crouched  two  fellows,  one  of  whom 
bore  in  his  hand  a  black  cloth. 

"Oh,  why  does  not  Monsieur  Martin 
come?"  said  Henriette  to  herself  softly, 
with  a  little  gesture  of  half-despair. 

"I  am  your  cousin  Martin!"  said  the 
man,  advancing  upon  them  with  a  smirk 
that  was  like  a  leer. 

Henriette  involuntarily  drew  back,  with- 
drawing Louise  a  few  steps  with  her.  Re- 
lief and  fear  of  the  strange  "cousin"  strug- 
gled within  her.  The  man  laid  a  hand  on 
the  elder  girl's  arm  and  at  the  same  time 
signalled  the  ruffians.  A  sudden  impulse 
moved  Henriette  to  wrench  herself  free. 

In  a  twinkling  the  three  were  upon  her. 
While  the  burly  leader  tore  away  her  grasp 
.of  the  blind  Louise,  the  fellow  with  the 


14      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

cloth  threw  it  over  her  face  and  shoulders, 
stifling  her  screams. 

Not  a  passer-by  in  sight ! 

Fiercely  Henriette  struggled,  twice  lift- 
ing the  cloth  from  her  face,  and  fiercely 
Louise  sought  to  twine  herself  around  the 
body  of  her  lovely  guide  and  protector. 
But  the  big  man  again  had  thrown  the  blind 
girl  off,  and  the  fellows,  having  tied  the 
black  cloth,  lifted  Henriette  between  them 
and  carried  her  into  a  waiting  fiacre. 

"We've  got  her  safe  now,  La  Fleur," 
said  the  kidnappers. 

"Drive  your  hardest  to  Bel-Air,  the  Mar- 
quis's fete  begins  at  nine  o'clock !"  said  the 
villain  addressed,  who  was  none  other  than 
the  famous  nobleman's  pander  .  ... 

What  cared  the  Marquis  and  La  Fleur 
about  the  blind  one's  misfortunes.  As  La 
Fleur  had  said : 

"Never  fear — blindness  is  ever  a  good 
stock  in  trade.  She'll  find  her  career — in 
the  streets  of  Paris !" 

Louise  stopped,  and  listened  for  the  re- 
treating footsteps.  The  noise  of  the  kid- 
nappers' melee  was  quite  stilled.  Instead, 
the  diminishing  sound  of  hoofbeats  and 


AT  THE  COACH  HOUSE         15 

crunching  wheels  woke  the  echoes  of  the 
silent  street ;  mingled  with  it — perhaps  not 
even  actually,  but  the  memory  of  an  earlier 
outcry — the  muffled  cry,  "Louise !  Louise !" 

Louise  listened  again,  but  no  familiar 
sound  met  her  ear — only  the  rushing  of  the 
water,  or  the  footsteps  of  some  pedestrian 
in  the  distance. 

"I  hear  nothing/'  she  said,  in  a  terrified 
whisper.  Hoping  against  hope,  and  in  a 
voice  trembling  with  fear,  she  spoke  as  it 
were  to  the  empty  winds: 

"Henriette!  Speak  to  me,  speak  one 
word.  Answer  me,  Henriette!"  No  an- 
swer, no  reply! 

"Louise !"  sounded  faintly  on  the  far-off 
wind,  or  perhaps  her  poor  brain  conjured 
it.  The  blind  girl  knew  now  that  her  sister 
was  beyond  reach,  and  in  the  power  of 
cruel  men  who  knew  no  mercy. 

"They  have  dragged  her  away  to  some 
hiding/'  sensed  the  poor  blind  brain,  "or 
perhaps  that  carriage  is  bearing  her  away 
from  me  forever.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 
she  cried  aloud,  in  tones  that  would  have 
thrilled  a  hearer's  heart  with  pity.  "Alone 
- — alone !  Abandoned ! " 

With  the  last  word  the  full  horror  of 


16      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

her  situation  surged  upon  her,  and  she 
burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears.  Alone  in 
Paris!  Blind  and  alone,  without  relatives 
or  friends. 

You  who  sit  in  a  cozy  home,  surrounded 
by  safeguards  and  comforts,  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  blind  foundling's  utter  depend- 
ence or  the  terrible  meaning  conveyed  by 
the  one  word  "abandoned." 

"What  will  become  of  me?"  she  cried, 
between  the  sobs.  "Alone  in  this  great 
city;  helpless  and  blind — my  God,  what 
shall  I  do  ?  Where  am  I  to  go  ?  I  do  not 
know  which  way  to  turn !" 

Self-preservation,  and  the  piteous  hope 
that  the  house  fronts  might  give  her  some 
clue  to  her  bearings,  caused  the  girl  to 
stagger  from  the  centre  of  the  square  to 
the  sides.  Along  one  of  them  she  picked 
her  way,  moaning  for  help  and  having  not 
even  a  stick  to  guide  her.  Slowly,  painfully 
she  groped  around  the  Place  until  unwit- 
tingly she  approached  the  railing  or  wall 
which  served  as  a  guard  to  the  steep  bank 
that  descended  to  the  river. 

Along  this  she  felt  her  way  until  sud- 
denly her  hands  met  the  empty  air.  What, 
now?  Should  she  return  as  she  had  come? 


AT  THE  COACH  HOUSE         17 

No,  she  thought;  the  flagging  beneath  her 
feet  was  heavy  and  substantial :  'twas  prob- 
ably the  intersection  of  another  street,  and 
a  few  steps  would  bring  her  to  house  fronts 
again. 

Louise  walked  down  the  flags  and 
stepped  into  nothingness — thirty  feet  sheer 
precipice  into  the  river  Seine ! 

In  the  instant  horror  of  falling  to  death 
off  the  stone  pier,  she  found  herself  saved 
by  being  clasped  in  a  man's  arms. 

"Great  heavens!"  this  individual  ex- 
claimed as  he  bore  her  to  the  centre  of  the 
square.  "What  were  you  going  to  do?" 

"Nothing  —  nothing  —  what  was  it  ?  " 
cried  Louise  incoherently,  realizing  only 
that  she  had  been  pulled  back  from  death's 
door. 

"Another  moment/'  said  the  man  in  hor- 
ror-stricken accents,  "and  you  would  have 
been  drowned  in  the  Seine!  I  leaped  up 
the  steps  and  just  managed  to  catch  you. 
Lucky  that  five  minutes  ago  I  had  to  go 
down  to  the  river  to  fill  my  water  can. 
You—" 

The  tones  of  the  voice,  which  struck 
Louise  as  young-old  in  its  timbre,  were 
soft  and  kind  with  a  refined  and  even  plain- 


18      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

tive  quality  albeit  not  cultured.  Here  was 
a  good  soul  and  a  friend,  she  sensed  at  once. 
But  could  she  suddenly  have  won  her  sight, 
Louise  would  have  been  astonished  at  the 
actual  vision. 

Pale  narrow  spirituelle  features,  lit  by 
beautiful  eyes  and  surmounted  by  wealth 
of  straight  black  hair;  a  form  haggard, 
weazened  by  deformity,  yet  evidencing 
muscular  toil;  delicate  hands  and  feet  that 
like  the  features  bespoke  the  poesy  of  soul 
within  mis-shapen  shell, — the  hunchback 
scissors-grinder  Pierre  Frochard  presented 
a  remarkable  aspect  which,  once  seen,  no 
one  could  ever  forget ! 

Wonder  and  awe  were  writ  on  the  pale 
face  as  he  looked  at  the  lovely  angel  he  had 
rescued.  Pierre  shuddered  again  over  the 
escape.  Better  that  he  should  have  suf- 
fered myriad  deaths  than  that  a  hair  of 
that  lovely  head  were  injured.  As  for  him- 
self— poor  object  of  the  world's  scorn  and 
his  family's  revilings — was  he  worthy  e'en 
to  kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment  ? 

Pierre  looked  yet  again.  The  angelic 
little  creature  was  blind!  Wide-open  yet 
sightless  orbs  whereof  the  cataracts  black- 
ened the  view  of  all  Life's  perils,  as  they 


AT  THE  COACH  HOUSE         19 

had  of  the  imminent  river.  A  surge  of  self- 
abnegating,  celestial  love,  mingled  with 
divine  pity,  filled  the  hunchback's  soul. 

Tenderly  he  inquired  about  her  misfor- 
tune, and  she  told  him  the  sad  tale  of  the 
journey  and  Henriette's  kidnapping  .  .  . 
Their  talk  was  broken  in  upon  by  the  entry 
of  the  hag  Mere  Frochard  and  her  elder 
son. 

Alas,  poor  Louise!  In  finding  a  friend 
thou  hast  likewise  found  the  bitter  bread 
of  the  stranger  and  the  slavery  of  the  Fro- 
chard clan!  The  wretched  hunchback  is 
himself  in  thrall.  Little  dreams  he  the  woe 
that  shall  attend  ye  both,  the  while  Hen- 
riette  is  the  victim  of  far  mightier  pomps 
and  powers. 

Though  Henriette  shall  not  know  thy 
fate  for  many  a  day,  though  she  shall  search 
long  and  frantically  and  not  meet  the  be- 
loved until  within  the  shadow  of  the  guillo- 
tine, it  may  give  the  reader  what  comfort 
it  will  that  the  blind  sister  still  lives — a  lost 
mite  in  the  vast  ocean,  of  Paris ! 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  FETE  OF  BEL-AIR 

Henriette  had  swooned  in  the  vehicle 
which  was  being  rapidly  driven  into  open 
country. 

Gradually  color  came  back  into  wan 
cheeks.  The  blue  orbs  and  Cupid  lips  flut- 
tered and  half  opened ;  the  dazed  little  brain 
tried  vainly  to  sense  what  had  happened. 

Quickly  the  man  La  Fleur  took  out  a 
small  phial  and  poured  some  few  drops  of 
a  dark  liquid  on  the  girl's  tongue.  Half 
consciously  swallowing  it,  she  sank  back 
again — this  time,  into  a  deeper  nirvana. 

They  were  coming  now  to  a  large  estate, 
the  grounds  of  which  were  brightly  illum- 
inated. Outside  the  iron  palings  a  crowd 
of  beggars  shrieked  and  gesticulated.  With- 
in, all  was  gayety.  La  Fleur  and  his  fellows 
dismounted  with  their  burden.  They  laid 
the  inamimate  form  of  the  Norman  girl  on 
a  litter  and  covered  it  with  a  white  canopy. 
As  this  strange  pallet  awaits  the  Master's 
wishes  in  anteroom,  let  us  take  a  peep  at 
the  celebrated  Sunken  Gardens. 


THE  FETE  OF  BEL  AIR         21 

Bel-Air  had  been  beautified  in  the  lovely 
exedra  style  for  which  Petit  Trianon  is 
noted.  Art  blended  so  cunningly  with  Na- 
ture one  might  almost  mistake  marble 
Venus  for  live  goddess  or  flesh-and-blood 
naiads  of  the  lake  for  carved  caryatides. 
The  very  musicians  seemed  children  of  Pan 
as  they  tuned  their  lyres  and  fiddles  in 
woodland  nook. 

Before  the  plashing  fountain  supported 
by  little  naked  Loves  in  marble — flanked  by 
balustrades  and  bordered  by  screens  of 
myriad  crystalline  glass  drops — a  cool 
white  pavement  invited  the  gay  minuet. 
Beyond,  a  huge  banquet  table  groaned  with' 
delicacies  and  wines  the  cost  of  which 
would  have  gone  far  to  rationing  the  thirty 
thousand  hungry  of  the  nearby  City.  In- 
deed, enough  was  wasted  to  have  fed  many. 
With  bizarre  and  often  gross  entertainment 
Marquis  de  Praille  amused  his  guests  who 
themselves  presented  a  wanton  and  amor- 
ous scene  that  seemed  itself  a  part  of  the 
elaborately  staged  revels 

What  gallantry,  what  passion,  what  low 
asides  and  snatched  kisses!  as  the  squirm- 
ing dancers  intoxicated  the  spectators' 
sense  or  gauzily  draped  coryphees  plunged 


22      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

in  the  pool  now  converted  into  a  fountain 
of  wine.  The  elegant  gentlemen  and  the 
audacious  women  guests — themselves  mir- 
acles of  bold  costuming  and  sixty-inch 
snow-white  coiffures — knew  the  play  fore- 
told the  coarser  revels  that  all  would  in- 
dulge in  after  midnight. 

Around  the  banqueting  tables  a  number 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  seated,  some 
still  toying  with  the  savory  viands  and 
drinking  rare  vintages  of  Champagne, 
whilst  others  idly  watched  the  dancers  or 
discussed  the  latest  court  news  and  high  life 
scandal. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  my  retreat 
from  the  whirl  and  bustle  of  Paris?"  asked 
Marquis  de  Praille  of  his  vis-a-vis,  who  was 
a  dashing  sort  of  beauty. 

"My  dear  Marquis,"  replied  that  lady, 
"I  am  delighted.  It  is  a  satisfaction  to  find 
a  gentleman  who  maintains  the  customs  of 
his  rank." 

"And  yet  there  are  fools  who  want  to 
change  them,"  exclaimed  a  young  noble- 
man from  the  opposite  table. 

"You  are  right — fools — fools,"  answered 
de  Praille,  as  he  motioned  to  the  servants 
for  more  wine. 


51 

51 


THE  FETE  OF  BEL-AIR         23 

"By  the  way,"  asked  the  lady  who  had 
first  spoken,  "you  have  heard  the  news?" 

As  no  one  had  heard  anything  particular- 
ly new  for  the  last  two  hours,  she  continued 
by  saying : 

"They  say  that  the  new  minister  of  police 
is  as  hard  as  a  stone,  and  cold  as  a  fish.  He 
is  going  to  put  a  stop  to  all  our  amuse- 
ments, and,  Marquis,  this  may  be  the  last 
entertainment  you  will  give  at  Bel-Air." 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  the  host.  "I'd 
like  to  see  the  minister  of  police  who  would 
dare  to  interfere  with  the  pleasures  of  a 
French  nobleman.  Who  and  wrhat  is  he?" 

"He  is  from  Touraine ;  is  called  the  Count 
de  Linieres,  and  is  the  uncle  of  the  Chev- 
alier Maurice  de  Vaudrey." 

"Where  is  the  Chevalier?"  suddenly 
asked  one  of  the  ladies,  as  she  was  thus 
reminded  of  one  whom  report  had  de- 
scribed as  rather  eccentric,  and  on  whom 
she  wished  to  exercise  her  charms.  "You 
promised  me  I  should  see  him,  Marquis." 

"So  I  did,  and  I  expect  him,  as  well  as 
another  guest.  I  warn  you,  ladies,  that  she 
will  be  the  rival  to  you  all." 

"Who  is  the  other  guest?"  was  the  ques- 
tion which  assailed  him  from  all  quarters. 


24      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"A  young  lady,"  answered  the  Marquis 
as  if  enraptured  at  the  thought.  "Sweet 
sixteen,  beautiful  as  a  rose,  and  innocent  as 
an  angel." 

"Where  did  you  find  such  a  pearl?" 
asked  one  of  the  ladies  banteringly. 

"In  Normandy." 

This  announcement  was  followed  by  a 
titter  from  the  feminine  members  of  the 
group. 

"Yes,  I  know  these  Normandy  beau- 
ties!" scorned  one  of  the  ladies,  betraying 
in  spite  of  herself  a  tinge  of  jealousy. 

"Rustics!  Quite  unpolished  and  de 
trop,"  chimed  in  another  fair  one,  cat-like 
in  her  verbal  claws. 

"Laugh  away,  ladies,"  said  de  Praille 
gayly.  "You  shall  see  a  real  Norman 
beauty,  and  then  see  how  jealous  you  will 
all  become  at  sight  of  her." 

At  this  moment  a  noise  was  heard  from 
the  outside,  and  in  the  midst  of  some  con- 
fusion a  rather  singular  voice  was  heard 
saying : 

"I  tell  you  I  must  go  in,  and  I  will.  I 
must  speak  to  your  master." 

On  hearing  this  the  Marquis  went  toward 


THE  FETE  OF  BEL-AIR         25 

the  entrance,  and  demanded  of  the  servants 
who  this  was  who  was  so  importunate. 

"Picard,"  answered  the  owner  of  the  sin- 
gular voice.  "Picard,  valet  to  the  Chevalier 
de  Vaudrey." 

The  Marquis  immediately  gave  orders 
that  he  be  admitted,  and  a  sharp,  wiry-look- 
ing fellow,  wearing  the  de  Vaudrey  livery, 
stood  before  the  gay  party. 

"Most  excellent  Marquis  and  most  beau- 
tiful ladies,"  he  said  to  the  general  mirth 
as  he  curtsied  low  and  executed  a  neat  pas 
seul,  "my  master  the  Chevalier  is  very  late, 
but  he  will  surely  appear." 

"Late?"  protested  one  of  the  young 
blades  who  knew  the  Prefect's  nephew. 
"Why,  he  told  me  he  expected  to  be  here 
early." 

"Alas,  detained  by  business — "  replied 
Picard  in  a  melancholy  tone. 

"Business!  A  young  nobleman  has  no 
business!" 

"It  is  so,  gentlemen.  Some  nights,  I 
grant  you,  he  devotes  to  pleasure,  as  a 
young  aristocrat  should ;  but  his  days — how 
do  you  suppose  he  spends  his  days?" 

"Sleeps,  of  course,"  said  the  Marquis,  in 
a  positive  tone. 


26      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STOR:.! 

"Gentlemen,  allow  me  to  tell  you  confi- 
dentially," said  the  valet  mysteriously  as 
the  gentlemen  gathered  around  him,  fully 
expecting  to  hear  of  some  treason.  "He 
works !  actually  works !  He  sits  down  and 
reads  and  writes  as  though  he  were  an 
advocate." 


CHAPTER  V 

BEL- AIR— (Continued) 

"Bah!"  exclaimed  one.  "You  don't  ex- 
pect us  to  believe  that?" 

"Yes,  and  more,  too,"  answered  Picard, 
who  enjoyed  immensely  being  able  to  im- 
part some  information  to  his  superiors. 
"Why,  how  do  you  suppose  he  acts  to  the 
common  people  who  want  to  see  him?  His 
creditors,  for  instance?" 

"Why,  if  they  are  importunate,  he  beats 
them,  I  suppose,"  answered  de  Praille,  who 
often  "settled"  bills  thus. 

"Yes,  .he  beats  them,"  sneered  Picard; 
"he  pays  them!  Yes,  gentlemen,  he  pays 
his  tradespeople."  And  the  valet  surveyed 
the  group,  enjoying  the  surprise  he  had 
given  them. 

"Oh,  the  poor  fellow  is  lost!"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  party,  who  at  the  age  of  twenty 
had  spent  a  large  fortune  and  was  now 
living  on  his  wits. 

"Completely,"  affirmed  Picard,  "and  all 
owing  to  the  company  he  keeps.  He  won't 
be  guided  by  me — " 


28      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"The  Chevalier  Maurice  de  Vaudrey !" 

Picard's  further  revelations  were  cut 
short  by  the  entry  of  his  master  who  dis- 
missed the  valet  and  presented  his  apologies 
to  the  company. 

In  any  assemblage  the  young  Chevalier 
of  twenty-two  might  have  been  remarked 
for  his  Greek  God  features  and  the  occa- 
sional smile  that  made  him  look,  from  time 
to  time,  a  veritable  bright  Phoebus  Apollo. 

He  was  far  handsomer,  far  more  attrac- 
tive than  the  host,  but  a  young-old  cynic 
about  these  goings-on.  Nephew  of  the 
police  prefect  of  Paris,  he  had  been  spe- 
cially invited  to  forestall — by  reason  of  his 
presence — any  Governmental  swooping" 
down  on  Praille's  wild  party.  Evidently  he 
was  not  thinking  of  morals  or  of  license, 
but  his  thoughts  were  far  other. 

"The  people  cry  out  for  bread,"  said  the 
Chevalier,  looking  at  the  board  and  think- 
ing of  the  shrieking  beggars. 

Marquis  de  Praille  raised  his  fashionable 
lorgnette,  contemplating  a  vast  chateau- 
like  confection  on  the  table,  and  sprung  his 
little  joke. 

"Why  don't  they  eat  cake?"  he  replied 
airily,  with  a  cackling  laugh. 


BEL-AIR  29 

De  Vaudrey  smiled  fleetingly,  then  half- 
serious,  half-smiling,  raised  a  hand  in  polite 
protest.  Two  fair  ones  carried  him  off 
eagerly  to  retail  to  the  distinguished  visitor 
a  morsel  of  gossip. 

"The  Marquis  has  made  another  con- 
quest!" whispered  one  to  him  behind  her 
fan,  to  which  the  other  added:  "Yes,  he 
found  a  marvelously  beautiful  Norman 
peasant  journeying  to  Paris  in  a  stage 
coach,  so  he  had  La  Fleur  take  her  and  fetch 
her  here — a  mere  rustic,  to  outvie  us  all!" 

"Yes,  'twill  be  good  sport,"  replied  the 
cynic.  "These  country  girls  that  his  excel- 
lency abducts  are  willing  victims." 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  procession  of 
servants  bringing  in  the  covered  pallet. 

The  spread  was  thrown  off,  a  restorative 
administered  to  the  recumbent  figure — 
Henriette  sat  up  and  gazed  in  blank  stupe- 
faction at  the  crowding  revelers. 

She  staggered  to  her  feet,  looking  for  a 
friendly  face  somewhere. 

Of  a  sudden,  the  mental  image  of  her 
lost  sister  shot  her  as  with  a  violent  agony. 

"My  sister  Louise — where  is  she?"  she 
pleaded.  "Quick !  Please  let  me  go  to  her 
—don't  you  understand  ?  She  is  BLIND !" 


30      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Sobs  almost  choked  the  little  voice.  "She 
cannot  take  a  SINGLE  STEP  without 
me!" 

De  Vaudrey  looked  up  to  see  the  tiny 
creature  running  hither  and  yon,  asking  the 
laughing  gentlemen  for  help,  repulsing 
Praille's  embraces,  fending  off  the  other 
satyr  who  would  drown  her  sorrows  in  fizz. 
If  this  were  play-acting,  it  excelled  the  fin- 
est efforts  of  Adrienne  Lecouvreur!  De 
Praille  had  now  grasped  her  firmly  by  the 
waist  and  shoulders,  his  sensual  breath  was 
on  her  cheek,  a  last  cry  escaped  her: 

"Among  all  these  noblemen,  is  there  not 
ONE  MAN  OF  HONOR?" 

The  despairing  outcry  pierced  the  Chev- 
alier's shallow  cynicism,  touching  the  finer 
feelings  that  had  lain  dormant. 

He  sprang  to  her  side,  dashed  de  Praille's 
arms  from  her  exquisite  form.  Then,  fac- 
ing his  bewildered  host,  he  said  in  calm 
even  tones  to  the  girl : 

"Come,  Mademoiselle,  we  will  leave  this 
place." 

Suiting  the  word  to  the  action,  he  offered 
his  arm  to  Henriette  and  started  to  go. 
With  a  fury  restrained  only  by  convention- 


BEL-AIR  31 

al  usages,  de  Praille  was  across  their  path 
and  barred  the  way  with  his  wand. 

"This  is  my  house,"  he  said  hoarsely, 
"and  I  will  not  permit  this  insult!"  As  he 
spoke,  the  chimes  sounded  midnight.  "Do 
you  hear?  After  twelve  o'clock,  no  one 
ever  leaves  Bel- Air!" 

For  answer  de  Vaudrey  dashed  aside  the 
extended  wand,  escorted  the  kidnapped  girl 
to  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  De  Praille  was 
upon  them  again.  This  time  he  drew  his 
sword.  Fascinated,  the  courtiers  and  their 
women  companions  watched  the  outcome. 

Gently  shielding  Henriette  behind  him, 
de  Vaudrey  drew.  Stroke  and  counter- 
stroke  and  parry  of  rapiers  and  lightning- 
like  motion  glinted  in  the  air.  Henriette 
was  the  affrighted  center  of  the  fashionable 
group  that,  according  to  the  custom  of  that 
time,  awaited  the  issue  of  the  duel  without 
intervening. 

Glory  be !  her  protector  was  parrying  the 
Marquis'  wild  thrusts  while  he  himself 
bided  an  opening.  It  came  with  a  sudden- 
ness as  dramatic  as  the  duel  itself.  A  lunge 
of  the  villain  had  left  his  own  side  exposed. 
De  Vaudrey  sidestepped  and  as  he  did  so 


32      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

plunged  his  rapier  between  the  ribs  of  t!;e 
owner  of  Bel-Air. 

The  mortally  stricken  de  Praille  sank 
back  against  a  marble  bench.  De  Vaudrey 
scarcely  glanced  at  him.  Taking  Henriette 
by  the  hand,  he  rushed  with  her  up  the 
staircase  and  out  to  liberty. 

Before  the  Grand  Seigneur's  cronies 
thought  to  avenge  their  master,  they  had 
passed  the  astonished  servants,  passed  the 
minatory  beggars  at  the  gates,  and  hailing 
a  fiacre  were  on  their  way  to  Paris. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  THE  FROCHARDS'  DEN 

One  hundred  and  fifty  years  of  outlawry 
had  made  the  Frochard  clan  a  wolfish 
breed;  battening  on  crime,  thievery  and 
beggary.  The  head  of  the  house  had  suf- 
fered the  extreme  penalty  meted  out  to 
highwaymen.  The  precious  young  hope- 
ful, Jacques,  was  a  chip  of  the  old  block — 
possibly  a  shade  more  drunken  and  a  shade 
less  enterprising. 

But  the  real  masterful  figure  was  the 
Widow  Frochard,  his  mother,  a  hag  whose 
street  appearance  nurses  used  to  frighten 
naughty  children.  Hard  masculine  fea- 
tures, disheveled  locks  and  piercing  black 
eyes  gave  her  a  fearsome  look  enhanced  by 
a  very  vigorous  moustache,  a  huge  wart 
near  the  mouth,  the  ear-hoops  and  tobacco 
pipe  that  she  sported,  and  the  miscellaneous 
mass  of  rags  that  constituted  her  costume. 

In  this  menage  of  the  begging  Frochards, 
the  crippled  scissors-grinder  Pierre  was  the 
only  individual  worth  his  salt,  and  he  was 


34      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

heartily  despised  by  his  brother  Jacques 
and  his  mother. 

The  hag's  black  eyes  snapped  as  she  saw 
Louise  whom  the  hunchback  had  saved 
from  the  water. 

"Pretty — blind — she'll  beg  us  lots  of 
money !"  she  said  gleefully  to  Jacques.  But 
to  the  girl  she  pretended  aid,  and  her  leath- 
ern, liquor-coated  voice  proclaimed : 

"No  friends,  eh,  Dearie?  Then  I'll  take 
care  of  you!" 

Only  poor  Pierre  sympathized  with 
Louise's  awful  grief  in  being  thrown  adrift 
on  Paris  through  the  violent  disappearance 
of  her  beloved  sister.  He  trembled  to  think 
what  knavery  his  wicked  kinsfolk  meant, 
though  he  himself  was  their  helpless  slave ; 
the  target  of  kicks,  cuffs,  and  the  robbery 
of  all  his  earnings. 

La  Frochard  led  the  way  to  their  dank 
and  noisome  den,  opening  from  a  street 
trap-door  and  giving  at  the  other  extremity 
on  a  sort  of  water-rat  exit  underneath  the 
pier.  She  handed  Louise  down  the  steps 
and  taking  her  things  remarked  in  a  self- 
satisfied  tone:  "Here  are  your  lodgings, 
Dearie !" 

The    old    woman    arrayed    herself    in 


IN  THE  FROCHARD'S  DEN      35 

Louise's  shawl,  and  grinned  as  she  tried  on 
the  girl's  widespread  garden  hat.  She  flung 
the  girl  about  roughly,  even  choking  her. 
To  heighten  the  rosy  picture  of  great 
wealth  to  accrue,  she  took  a  deep  draught 
of  cognac  from  her  loved  black  bottle.  Poor 
Louise  sank  down  to  deep  slumber,  from 
which  neither  the  noisy  potations  of  La 
Frochard  and  Jacques,  nor  their  cursing 
and  abuse  of  the  hunchback  Pierre,  sufficed 
to  awaken  her. 

Next  morning  the  hag  pulled  the  blind 
girl  out  of  the  rough  bed  and  dressed  her 
in  beggar's  garments. 

"You  must  go  out  now  on  the  street  with 
us  and  sing!"  she  said. 

"...  But  you  promised  to  help  me  find 
Henriette  .  .  ."  said  the  poor  girl,  pit^- 
ously. 

"We'll  find  her  for  you  one  of  these  days, 
but  in  the  meantime  you  must  earn  your 
keep.  No — I  don't  mean,  actually  beg! 
You  do  the  singing,  and  I'll  do  the  beg- 
ging." 

"Never!"  cried  Louise.  "You  may  kill 
me  if  you  will,  but  I'll  not  be  a  street  beg- 
gar. Why,  the  very  first  person  we  meet, 
I'll  ask  to  save  me  and  inform  the  police !" 


36      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"I'll  fix  you,  my  fine  lady!"  screamed 
La  Frochard,  throwing  her  from  her. 
"Come,  Jacques,"  she  said  to  her  ruffian 
son,  "we'll  trying  a  means  of  making  her 
mind!"  Together  they  seized  and  started 
dragging  her  to  the  steps  of  a  sub-cellar. 
Tremblingly  Pierre  urged  them  to  desist, 
but  they  cast  him  aside. 

Louise  was  thrust  into  the  dungeon  and 
the  trap  closed.  Black  bread  and  a  cup  of 
water  was  to  be  her  prison  fare.  Still 
moaning  "Henriette!  Henriette!"  she 
groped  along  the  slimy  walls  and  tried  foot- 
ing of  the  mingled  mud  and  straw. 

Horrors!  What  were  the  creeping 
things  she  sensed,  though  sightless?  Two 
raced  under  her  petticoat,  one  nibbled  at 
her  shoe.  She  jumped  high  in  air  and 
screamed  outright. 

Rats !  They  were  upon  her  again,  almost 
swarming.  She  fled  to  a  corner,  leaped  on 
a  pile  of  rags,  literally  fought  them  off  with 
both  hands!  Her  screams  echoed  through 
the  upper  den,  to  the  anguish  of  Pierre  and 
the  mocking  laughter  of  La  Frochard  and 
Jacques  .  .  . 

Pitiably  broken,  Louise  was  pulled  out 
of  the  vile  sink  a  few  hours  later,  pledging 


IN  THE  FROCHARD'S  DEN      37 

wildly  to  obey  the  least  of  the  hag's  com- 
mands. 

La  Frochard  knew  that  her  conquest  was 
complete. 

Henceforth  the  girl  would  be  but  as  a 
lay  figure  in  her  hands — a  decoy  to  lure 
the  golden  charity  of  the  rich  and  sympa- 
thetic. 

As  for  Jacques,  that  ruffian  was  now 
eyeing  the  blind  lass  closely,  and  mutter- 
ing: 

"Not  bad-looking — I'll  see  to  it  no  other 
man  gets  her!" 

He  slapped  his  knife  villainously. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TANGLED  SKEINS 

Henriette  Girard  had  not  only  been  saved 
from  dishonor  by  Chevalier  de  Vaudrey, 
but  she  had  won  a  devoted  friend.  Through 
his  connections,  the  Chevalier  knew  much 
that  was  passing  in  the  half-world.  The 
mystery  of  the  happenings  at  the  coach 
house  was  cleared  by  him. 

"Your  cousin  M.  Martin,"  he  said,  "was 
found  drugged  in  a  wineshop  to  which  pre- 
sumably the  man  La  Fleur  had  enticed  him. 
It  was  easy  then  for  La  Fleur  to  pose  as 
Martin  and  kidnap  you. 

"I  grieve  to  say  it,  abductions  of  the  poor 
and  friendless  are  common  with  the  roues 
of  fashion.  Their  families  are  of  such  in- 
fluence that  the  police  rarely  interfere. 

"But  there  will  be  an  end  of  this — if  I 
mistake  not,"  said  the  Chevalier,  "the  peo- 
ple mean  to  put  an  end  to  these  seignorial 
'privileges' !" 

It  was  in  one  of  his  frequent  talks  at  the 
simple  lodgings  to  which  he  had  conducted 
her  the  night  of  Bel- Air.  Swiftly  they  had 


V).    if.   Griffith's  "Orphans  of  the  Storm") 

THE  MARQUIS  DE  PRAILLE  IS  ENRAPTURED  BY  THF  LITTLF 
FROM  THE  STAGE  COACH  (HENRIETTE  PLAYED 
BY  LILLIAN  GISH.) 


TANGLED  SKEINS  39 

retraced  the  steps  of  the  stricken  Louise 
even  to  the  pier  edge  over  the  darkling 
Seine.  Horrified  and  trembling,  Henriette 
feared  the  worst. 

"It  is  not  likely  she  was  drowned,"  said 
the  Chevalier  gravely.  "Someone  must 
have  been  about,  to  save  her.  Do  not  be 
discouraged,  Mademoiselle,  if  our  search 
for  Louise  takes  several  days.  We  are 
without  a  clew — groping,  like  her,  in  the 
dark.  But  we  shall  find  her,  never  fear !" 

The  confident  words  gave  tiny  comfort 
to  the  elder  girl  as  he  bade  his  adieux  in 
the  parlor  of  the  respectable  lodging  house 
he  had  found  for  her — the  same  caravan- 
sary (had  they  but  known  it)  that  housed 
the  then  obscure  Maximilien  Robespierre. 

She  strove  to  thank  him  for  his  kindness 
when  he  interrupted  her:  "Don't  thank 
me,  Mademoiselle,  I  owe  ijou  a  debt  of 
gratitude,  for  you  have  restored  to  me 
ideals  sweet  as  childhood !" 

Unconsciously  the  young  people  stand- 
ing there,  drew  closer  to  one  another  until 
their  lips  met.  Each  was  almost  too  aston- 
ished for  words.  Fine  breeding  came  to 
de  Vaudrey's  aid.  He  apologized — and 
promised  not  to  let  it  happen  again ! 


40      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Sincerity  spoke  in  the  young  man's  earn- 
est eyes  and  his  respectful  kiss  of  her  small 
hand  at  parting. 

Was  indeed  this  youthful  cynic  trans- 
formed by  the  flower-like  influence  of  the 
girl? 

He  went  away  all  eagerness  to  pursue  the 
lost  sister's  quest,  promising  that  no  stone 
— police  or  other — should  be  left  unturned 
in  the  search. 

And  here — where  the  orphans'  eventful 
epoch  becomes  entwined  with  the  lives  of 
the  great  and  with  the  darkening  storm  and 
impending  passion  of  the  Revolution — it  is 
well  to  acquaint  our  readers  further  with 
the  de  Vaudreys. 

Count  de  Linieres  of  Touraine  had  been 
married — many  years  before  the  date  of 
this  story — to  Mile,  de  Vaudrey,  the  heiress 
of  a  great  fortune.  A  skeleton  ('twas 
rumored)  rattled  in  the  Vaudrey  closet. 
Certainly  there  was  heritage  of  hates  as 
well  as  gold. 

A  tenant  Jean  Setain,  who  came  to  the 
Paris  mansion  to  pay  his  rent,  made  a 
scene.  He  told  of  the  cruelties  long  ago 
inflicted  on  his  father  by  the  Countess' 


TANGLED  SKEINS  41 

father — for  some  trifling  trespass  on  seig- 
niorage, boiling  lead  in  the  unfortunate's 
veins — and  the  angry  Count,  after  a  stern 
rebuke,  had  him  ejected.  Jacques-Forget- 
Not  (such  was  his  queer  nickname)  de- 
parted, vowing  vengeance. 

Having  ample  wealth,  the  Count  desired 
preferment.  The  post  of  Minister  of  Police 
was  a  steppingstone.  He  accepted  it  whilst 
visions  of  a  grand  alliance  for  his  nephew, 
Chevalier  de  Vaudrey,  pointed  to  dukedom 
or  even  princely  rank  as  the  family's  goal. 
It  thus  vexed  Linieres  exceedingly  that  the 
Chevalier  should  have  been  mixed  up  in  a 
duel  about  an  unknown  girl.  He  believed 
it  a  clever  stroke  to  hire  Picard,  the  Chev- 
alier's own  valet,  to  spy  upon  him. 

"How  is  your  master's  conduct?"  asked 
the  Count. 

"Scandalous,  perfectly  scandalous!"  re- 
plied Picard  in  a  tone  of  deep  dejection. 
"Once  indeed  he  had  a  few  gentleman  asso- 
ciates and  went  to  gay  parties,  but  now  he 
is  quite  moral,  and  just  as  studious  as  a 
lawyer's  clerk.  Really  I  must  leave  the 
Chevalier,"  continued  Picard,  "his  princi- 
ples are  such  as  I  cannot  accept !" 

"Then  I  will  re-engage  you — on  one  con- 


42      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

dition.  That  is,  that  you  remain  a  while 
with  my  nephew  and  tell  me  everything  he 
does.  I  have  heard,  on  the  contrary, 
that—" 

Picard  almost  danced  a  pas  seul.  "Oh, 
that  is  the  way  the  wind  lies!  The  sly 
dog! — And  I  thought  of  leaving  him.  She 
must  be  a  saucy  and  jaunty  little  minx, 
whoever  she  is!  Oh,  yes,  I  will  find  out 
everything  that  you  require." 

With  eye  to  keyhole  the  valet  reporter 
saw  the  frequent  innocent  parleys  of  Maur- 
ice and  Henriette,  which  he  construed  as 
an  intrigue.  He  was  quite  ecstatic  with 
happiness  now.  The  police  Prefect,  finding 
his  suspicions  privately  confirmed,  bluntly 
refused  police  aid  to  the  Chevalier's  hunt 
for  Louise.  He  spoke  pointedly  and  (as  he 
hoped)  with  effect: 

"Monsieur,  you  must  give  up  your  asso- 
ciation with  these  common  people.  I  have 
other  plans  for  you  that  will  shortly  ma- 
ture." 

The  angry  Count  could  not  be  crossed. 
De  Vaudrey's  sole  hope  lay  in  his  Aunt. 

Ceaselessly  Henriette  spent  her  days  in 
trying  to  trace  Louise.  Her  quest  became 


TANGLED  SKEINS  43 

the  neighborhood  gossip.  Strangers  inter- 
ested themselves  and  offered  clues  to  her- 
self and  the  Chevalier — clues  that  proved 
quite  futile. 

To  her  doorstep  a  great  pock-marked 
man,  bushy-browed  and  of  knob-like  vis- 
age, was  walking  one  day  with  her  finicky 
dandified  neighbor  M.  Robespierre.  As  he 
passed,  the  titan  turned  and  inquired 
kindly : 

"Are  you  the  little  girl  who  lost  her 
sister?" 

He  spoke  with  a  gentle  sympathy  that 
touched  her  and  even  his  cursing  reference 
to  the  abductions:  "Damned  aristocrats! 
The  people  are  going  to  stop  that  sort  of 
thing!"  did  not  phase  her,  for  she  looked 
up  into  his  face  and  trustfully  replied : 

"You  are  such  a  big  man  I  should  think 
you  could  do  almost  anything!" 

Robespierre  was  pawing  at  the  pock- 
marked one's  coat,  and  finally  succeeded  in 
yanking  him  around.  The  broad  back  of 
the  giant  being  turned  to  her,  our  little 
sparrow  of  a  Henriette  noiselessly  departed 
— to  the  evident  disappointment  of  the  big 
man  who  looked  yet  again  and  found  her 
place  empty! 


44      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

The  big  man  had  run  across  Chevalier 
de  Vaudrey  also,  and  the  two  had  struck  up 
a  friendship.  Moved  by  the  pitiful  sight  of 
a  starveling  crowd  gazing  into  a  bakery, 
Maurice  had  rushed  in  and  bought  an  arm- 
ful of  loaves  which  he  distributed,  adding 
gold  louis  for  the  wretched  mothers  of 
families.  The  pock-marked  one  had  been 
a  spectator.  He  stopped  the  Chevalier, 
shook  his  hand  warmly,  and  remarked :  "If 
more  of  the  aristocrats  were  like  you, 
things  would  be  different!" 

From  these  scenes  of  low  life,  let  the 
reader  pass  for  a  few  moments  to  the  Salon 
de  la  Paix  at  Versailles,  where  King  Louis 
XVI  received  petitioners. 

We  in  America  who  have  no  awe  of 
royalty  perceive  that  the  luckless  King  wa,s 
simply  a  square  peg  in  a  round  hole.  He 
loved  locksmithy,  hunting,  and  home; 
would  have  been  a  successful  inventor, 
pioneer,  or  bourgeois  parent.  In  the  chair 
of  State,  on  this  day  of  petitions,  his  head 
and  hand  busied  themselves  with  a  wonder- 
ful new  doorlock  he  had  devised. 

"Sire,"  said  the  suppliant  de  Linieres,  "in 
the  matter  of  the  rrand  alliance  betwixt  my 


TANGLED  SKEINS  45 

nephew  Chevalier  de  Vaudrey  and  your 
ward  Princesse  de  Acquitaine — " 

The  monarch  nodded  absentmindedly. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes !  Of  course.  As  you  say — " 
With  a  courtly  wave  of  the  hand,  the  mon- 
arch indicated  the  waiting  heiress  on  his 
right.  She  curtsied  low  in  acceptance  of 
the  royal  command. 

"Let  the  young  man  marry  her,  and 
accept  a  place  in  my  royal  entourage — 
But  now  that  this  little  matter  is  settled," 
continued  the  King  with  a  return  to  his  for- 
mer animation,  "I  invite  you  to  examine 
my  latest  invention,  an  unpickable  lock, 
which  I  have  here !" 

The  grave  comedy  of  eulogy  on  the  royal 
locksmithing  was  played  by  the  delighted 
suppliant  according  to  all  the  rules. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  HONOR  OF  THE  FAMILY 

Daily  the  young  Chevalier  developed  a 
warmer  interest  in  the  sweet  and  pure 
young  girl  at  the  faubourg  lodgings.  Al- 
ways his  visits  brought  a  little  delicious 
heart-flutter  to  Henriette,  though  not  un- 
mixed with  mourning  o'er  lost  sister.  And 
as  a  result  of  these  idyllic  meetings,  am- 
bitious plans  appeared  to  him  abhorrent. 

About  this  time  the  Countess  de  Lin- 
ieres,  calling  one  day  day  at  her  husband's 
ministerial  offices,  learned  of  his  purposes. 

"I  was  about  to  come  to  you,"  said  the 
Count,  "but  you  have  anticipated  me.  I 
desire  to  speak  with  you  on  the  subject  of 
your  nephew,  the  Chevalier  de  Vaudrey, 
and  to  ask  you  to  prepare  him  for  the  mar- 
riage which  the  King — " 

"Wishes  to  impose  on  him,"  interrupted 
the  Countess  bitterly. 

"Impose  on  him?"  repeated  de  Linieres. 
"It  is  a  magnificent  alliance,  which  will 
complete  the  measure  of  the  distinguished 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  FAMILY  47 

honors  with  which  His  Majesty  deigns  to 
favor  us." 

"Have  you  spoken  to  the  Chevalier  yet?" 

"No,  but  I  am  expecting  him  every  mo- 
ment, and  I  wished  to  talk  with  him  in  your 
presence." 

As  if  this  conversation  had  some  influ- 
ence over  him,  de  Vaudrey  entered  at  this 
moment. 

"Ah,  Chevalier!"  exclaimed  the  Count. 
"I  am  glad  to  see  you.  The  Countess  and 
myself  have  an  important  communication 
to  make  to  you." 

De  Vaudrey  looked  at  his  uncle  in  sur- 
prise. The  latter  was  positively  beaming. 
Big  with  the  prospective  grandeur  of  his 
house,  he  hesitated  momentarily  over  the 
manner  of  delivering  it. 

"My  dear  Maurice,"  said  the  Count  fin- 
ally, "the  King  did  me  the  honor  to  receive 
me  yesterday,  and  he  spoke  of  you." 

"Of  me?"  asked  de  Vaudrey  in  surprise. 

"He  takes  a  great  interest  in  you,"  con- 
tinued de  Linieres,  now  speaking  quickly. 
"He  wishes  you  to  accept  a  position  at 
court,  and  desires  at  the  same  time  that  you 
should  marry." 

"Marry?"  asked  de  Vaudrey,  as  though 


48      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

he  could  not  believe  his  uncle  really  meant 
what  he  said. 

The  Countess  waited  as  anxiously  for  de 
Vaudrey's  answer  as  did  her  husband, 
though  for  a  different  reason.  She  loved 
the  young  man  before  her,  and  his  happi- 
ness and  well-being  were  very  dear  to  her. 

"My  dear  nephew,"  she  said  kindly,  "I 
see  that  this  news  surprises  you.  Yet  there 
is  no  fear  that  the  King's  choice  will  do 
violence  to  your  feelings.  The  lady  whom 
His  Majesty  has  chosen,  has  youth,  beauty 
and  fortune." 

"In  proof  of  which  I  have  only  to  tell  you 
that  his  choice  is  Princesse — "  the  Count 
attempted  to  say,  but  was  interrupted  by 
the  Chevalier. 

"Do  not  name  her,"  he  said  excitedly. 

"Why  not?"  asked  his  uncle  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Because  I  refuse  to  marry!" 

The  effect  of  these  momentous  words 
was  quite  diverse  upon  the  uncle  and  the 
aunt  of  the  young  man. 

For  the  moment  the  haughty  nobleman 
could  not  understand  why  his  nephew-by- 
marriage  should  reject  the  flattering  pro- 
posal, such  an  easy  and  agreeable  road  to 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  FAMILY  49 

place  and  fortune.  Soon  rising  anger  got 
the  better  of  his  surprise,  and  minding 
Picard's  reports  on  the  Chevalier's  conduct, 
his  thought  was: 

"Ah,  that's  the  secret — he  prefers  his  lib- 
ertine courses  to  assured  fortune!" 

But  the  Aunt,  with  a  woman's  ready  wit, 
understood  there  could  be  but  one  reason 
to  such  a  decided  refusal,  and  knew  that  he 
must  be  already  in  love. 

Countess  de  Linieres  loved  the  Chevalier 
as  if  he  were  her  own  son.  Quickly  she  shot 
the  youth  a  warning  look  to  prevent  if  pos- 
sible a  verbal  passage  of  arms.  But  it  was 
already  too  late. 

"You  dare  to  disobey  the  King — "  thun- 
dered Count  de  Linieres,  in  righteous 
wrath,  backed  (as  the  others  well  knew)  by 
the  triple  authority  of  household,  police  and 
royal  cachet. 

"My  sword  is  my  King's,"  flashed  the 
handsome  youth  resolutely,  "but  my  will 
must  remain  my  own ! 

"I  will  go  to  His  Majesty,"  he  contined 
passionately.  "I  will  thank  him  for  his 
goodness,  place  my  services  at  his  disposal. 
My  devotion,  my  life  are  his,  but  my  affec- 


50      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

tions  are  my  own,  and  I  wish  to  remain — 
free!" 

"Free!"  exclaimed  the  Count  scornfully. 
"Free  to  lead  a  life  of  dissipation  which  you 
may  not  always  be  able  to  hide  from  the 
world." 

These  words,  which  implied  so  much, 
stung  the  noble-hearted  de  Vaudrey  more 
than  any  words  of  anger  or  reproach  could 
have  done. 

"There  is  nothing  in  my  life  to  hide,"  he 
said  proudly  but  impatiently,  "nothing  for 
which  I  have  reason  to  blush." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  Chevalier?"  asked 
the  Count,  in  a  tone  that  plainly  said  the 
speaker  knew  differently.  Conscious  of  his 
own  uprightness,  this  doubt  cast  upon  his 
word  was  more  than  the  Chevalier  could 
bear,  and  he  advanced  toward  his  uncle  with 
a  menacing  air. 

"Monsieur!"  he  began,  boldly,  "I  can- 
not—" 

"Maurice!  my  husband!"  exclaimed  the 
Countess,  as  she  stepped  between  the  two 
men  to  prevent  those  words  being  spoken 
which  would  have  led  to  an  encounter. 
"Defer  the  conversation  for  the  present. 
Permit  me  to  speak  to  Maurice." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  FAMILY  51 

"Very  well,"  said  de  Linieres  sternly. 
Then  turning  to  the  Chevalier  he  said,  in  a 
voice  which  he  had  never  before  used  to  his 
nephew:  "We  will  return  to  this  another 
time.  You  will  remember  that  as  head  of 
the  family  its  honor  is  confided  to  my  care, 
and  I  will  not  suffer  any  one  to  sully  it  with 
a  stain." 

De  Vaudrey  had  nearly  lost  all  control  of 
his  temper.  In  a  moment  the  outbreak 
which  the  Countess  was  so  anxious  to  avoid 
would  have  broken  forth,  had  not  the  Count 
without  giving  his  nephew  time  to  speak 
said  quickly: 

"I  leave  you  with  the  Countess.  I  hope 
that  your  respect  and  affection  for  her  will 
cause  you  to  lend  more  weight  to  her  coun- 
sels than  you  are  disposed  to  give  to  mine." 

As  if  fearing  that  he  might  have  tried  the 
young  man's  temper  too  far,  or  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  prolong  a  useless  scene,  the 
Count  left  the  room.  De  Vaudrey  was 
alone  with  his  Aunt. 

The  Countess  went  up  to  the  noble-look- 
ing young  man,  and  taking  his  hand  in  hers, 
asked  in  a  sweet,  winning  voice : 

"Who  is  this  woman  you  love?  What 
obstacle  prevents  the  avowal  of  your  pas- 


52      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 


sion  r 


„ If  it  is  only  a  matter  of  f ortu  ~,  take 

mine;  it  is  all  at  your  disposal,  and  I  will 
give  it  to  you  cheerfully." 

"Ah,  where  shall  I  find  a  heart  like 
yours?"  exclaimed  the  Chevalier  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  emotion.  "You  have  di- 
vined my  secret.  I  adore  a  young  girl  as 
charming  as  she  is  pure.  Yet  never  have  I 
dared  to  whisper  my  passion!" 

"Her  name — her  family?"  asked  the 
Countess  eagerly. 

"She  was  born  of  the  people,"  said  de 
Vaudrey  proudly,  yet  tenderly.  "She  is  an 
orphan  and  Eves  by  the  labor  of  her  hands." 
The  Countess,  who  had  never  for  a  mo- 
ment imagined  such  an  answer  to  her  ques- 
tion, was  surprised,  and  she  showed  plainly 
that  grief  was  mingled  with  her  surprise. 

"And  you  would  make  such  a  woman 
your  wife?"  she  asked  reproachfully. 

"Do  not  judge  her  until  you  have  seen 
her,"  entreated  the  Chevalier.  "Consent  to 
see  her,  and  then  advise  me." 

The  young  man  took  the  Countess's 
hands  in  his,  and  looked  imploringly  into 
her  face. 

But  his  Aunt  turned  away  from  him  with 
a  gesture  of  sorrow. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  FAMILY  53 

"In  such  a  marriage,"  she  said  sadly, 
"there  can  be  no  happiness  for  you,  and  for 
her,  only  misery.  Alas !  I  know  too  well  the 
result  of  those  unequal  unions.  You  must 
renounce  her.  You  owe  obedience  to  your 
family  and  your  King."  She  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears. 

Diffidently  the  young  man  sought  to  com- 
fort the  Countess  whose  emotion  seemed  to 
have  its  spring  in  some  hidden  sorrow.  He 
promised  at  last  for  her  sake  to  consider 
again  the  horribly  odious  proposal  of  a 
State  marriage,  and  drying  her  tears  as  well 
as  he  could,  went  his  way,  a  victim  of  torn 
desires  and  intensest  anguish.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  IX 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

The  giant  stranger  who  had  talked  to 
Henriette  and  made  friends  with  de  Vau- 
drey  was  Jacques  Danton.  He  and  his  col- 
league, Maximilien  Robespierre,  were  des- 
.tined  to  be  the  outstanding  figures  of  the 
French  Revolution.  It  is  worth  while  to 
stop  here  for  a  little  and  consider  these  two 
men  in  their  historical  aspects  and  for  the 
profound  influence  which  they  exerted  on 
the  lives  of  our  characters. 

As  the  storm  clouds  blacken  the  sky  and 
the  sullen  sea  (not  yet  lashed  to  fury)  is 
ridged  in  deep,  advancing  breakers,  the 
mariner's  eye  discerns  these  stormy  petrels 
flying  about  or  momentarily  perched  on  the 
masts  of  the  Ship  of  State. 

Mark  them  well — Danton  and  Robes- 
pierre :  today,  merely  "esurient  advocates," 
petty  men  of  law  come  up  from  the  prov- 
inces to  win  their  fortunes  in  Paris;  to- 
morrow, leaders  of  faction;  some  months 
or  years  later,  the  rulers  of  France! 

Danton — "the     huge,     brawny     figure, 


FRIENDS  OF  THE  PEOPLE      55 

through  whose  black  brows  and  rude  flat- 
tened face  there  looks  a  waste  energy  as  of 
Hercules  not  yet  furibund." 

Robespierre — aptly  described  as  the 
meanest  man  of  the  Tiers  Estat:  "that 
anxious,  slight,  ineffectual-looking  man, 
under  thirty,  in  spectacles;  his  eyes,  trou- 
bled, careful;  with  upturned  face,  snuffing 
dimly  the  uncertain  future-time;  complex- 
ion of  a  multiplex  atrabiliar  color,  the  final 
shade  of  which  may  be  the  pale  sea-green !" 

Such  were  they,  afterwards  to  be  known 
respectively  as  "the  pock-marked  Thun- 
derer" and  the  "sea-green  Incorruptible" 
of  the  Revolution.  The  slight,  fox-like  man 
had  got  himself  elected  to  the  States-Gen- 
eral which  in  May,  1789,  convened  at  Ver- 
sailles to  take  up  the  troubled  state  of  the 
country,  whilst  the  lion-like  and  fiery  Dan- 
ton  was  the  president  of  the  Cordeliers  elec- 
toral district  of  Paris — the  head  of  a  popu- 
lar faubourg  faction,  not  yet  of  power  in 
the  State. 

The  new  helmsmen  of  the  State,  headed 
by  Mirabeau,  steered  with  considerable  suc- 
cess among  waters  as  yet  but  partly  roiled. 
At  Versailles  an  outward  and  visible  Lib- 
eralism triumphed.  The  Third  Estate  or 


56      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Commons,  consolidating  its  authority  as  a 
permanent  assembly,  took  measures  to  end 
the  national  bankruptcy  and  tried  to  cope 
with  the  awful  menace  of  starvation.  It 
was  a  bourgeois  body,  thinly  sprinkled  with 
members  of  the  nobility  and  clergy ;  its  aim, 
to  abolish  the  worst  seigniorial  abuses,  re- 
store prosperity,  and  support  the  throne  by 
a  system  of  constitutional  guarantees. 

But  when  the  Storm  broke,  it  was  not  at 
Versailles  where  these  lawgiving  Six  Hun- 
dred debated  the  state  of  the  Nation,  but  at 
Paris  that  the  group  known  as  "Friends  of 
the  People"  lashed  the  popular  discontents 
to  unmeasured  and  ungovernable  fury. 

It  begins  in  the  Palais  Royal  where  "there 
has  been  erected,  apparently  by  subscrip- 
tion, a  kind  of  Wooden  Tent,  most  conven- 
ient— where  select  Patriotism  can  now  re- 
dact resolutions,  deliver  harangues,  with 
comfort,  let  the  weather  be  as  it  will.  Lively 
is  that  Satan-at-Home !  On  his  table,  on 
his  chair,  in  every  cafe,  stands  a  patriotic 
orator ;  a  crowd  round  him  within ;  a  crowd 
listening  from  without,  open-mouthed, 
through  open  door  and  window;  with 
'thunders  of  applause  for  every  sentiment 
of  more  than  common  hardiness.'  " 


FRIENDS  OF  THE  PEOPLE      57 

Strange  that  in  a  Royalist  garden  should 
sprout  the  seeds  of  a  great  Revolution! 
Stranger  the  crowds  that  gathered  there, 
and  the  leaders  both  popular  and  Royalist 
— among  the  former,  our  fiery  friend  Dan- 
ton,  our  cautious,  snuffling  Robespierre, 
and  the  boy  of  genius  Camille  Desmoulins, 
Danton's  "slight-built  comrade  and  craft- 
brother,  he  with  the  long  curling  locks,  with 
the  face  of  dingy  blackguardism,  won- 
drously  irradiated  with  genius!" 

General  Lafayette  and  Minister  from 
America  Thomas  Jefferson  came  there  too 
now  and  again,  to  watch  the  crowds  and 
hear  the  speeches.  Symbols  of  America's 
newly  won  freedom,  they  were  objects  of 
almost  superstitious  veneration  to  the  agi- 
tators for  an  enfranchised  France.  Dan- 
ton,  Desmoulins  and  the  rest  crowded 
around  them,  eager  to  shake  their  hands 
and  listen  to  their  comments.  In  particu- 
lar, Lafayette's  sword — the  gift  of  the 
American  Congress  a  decade  before,  ex- 
cited their  admiration. 

"From  America's  Congress!"  repeated 
Danton  fervently  as  he  eyed  the  inscription 
on  the  scabbard.  "Why,  that's  the  kind  of 
Government  we  want  over  here!"  Tears 


58      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

came  into  the  Frenchman's  eyes,  to  think 
of  the  Liberty  that  Lafayette  had  helped 
to  win. 

The  Palais  Royal  gardens  were  the  prop- 
erty of  the  King's  cousin,  Louis  Phillipe. 
Disgusted  with  not  being  in  the  councils  of 
the  monarch  and  leaning  to  democracy,  he 
permitted  the  place  to  be  used  for  public 
promenades,  lovers'  meetings — and  popular 
harangues.  Friends  of  the  People,  Friends 
of  Phillipe,  and  Friends  of  the  King  freely 
rubbed  elbows.  The  popular  tide  set  so 
strongly  that  none  dared  openly  oppose  the 
demagogic  orators.  A  bread  famine  had 
descended  upon  Paris.  The  scarcity  of 
wheat  and  flour  was  an  ever-present  theme ; 
the  oppression  of  autocracy  and  seignior- 
age, another.  The  cry  for  direct  action  al- 
ways woke  echo  in  the  popular  breast,  sick 
over  the  delays  of  the  Versailles  lawgivers, 
and  nourishing  the  hope  of  seizing  pelf  and 
power,  rescuing  their  kinsfolk  from  the 
prisons,  and  beating  down  the  Kingship 
and  aristocracy  to  relinquish  privileges  and 
abate  the  hardships  of  the  Common  Man ! 

Plain,  embittered  envy  stalked  abroad, 
too — envy  of  the  aristocrats'  grand  homes 
and  unparalleled  luxury,  their  fine  equip- 


FRIENDS  OF  THE  PEOPLE      59 

ages  and  clothing-,  costly  foods  and  wines, 
their  trains  of  lackeys  and  menials,  the 
beauty  and  joie-de-vivre  of  their  sons  and 
daughters !  The  mechanic,  the  storekeeper, 
the  unskilled  laborer,  the  ranks  of  unem- 
ployed, and  the  submerged  tenth  obliged  to 
live  by  their  wits  or  starve,  were  as  fuel  to 
the  spark  of  the  orators'  lightning. 

'Twas  unlike  a  well-ordered  land  wherein 
each  one  receives  the  well-merited  reward 
of  toil.  Justice  was  not  in  the  body  politic. 
Tyranny,  extravagance  and  bankruptcy  on 
the  part  of  the  ruling  class  had  wiped  out 
the  margin  of  plenty.  Black  ruin  seemed  to 
impend  for  all.  It  was  a  case  of  starve — or 
unite  against  the  rulers  and  oppressors  of 
society.  Danton,  the  thunderer  of  mighty 
speech,  dominated  these  gatherings,  aided 
and  abetted  by  the  eagle-like  Desmoulins 
and  the  crafty  Robespierre. 

"With  the  People's  government,"  his 
swelling  periods  resounded,  "there  shall  be 
no  common  man,  no  aristocrat — no  rich  nor 
poor — but  all  brothers — brothers — broth- 
ers !"  Imagine  if  you  can  the  fire-drama  of 
his  recital  of  generations  of  cruelties  and 
wrongs — his  picture  of  their  miserable  lot 
and  of  the  envied  aristocrats'  pleasures — 


60      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

and  then  consider  the  pitch  of  frenzied  re- 
publicanism to  which  this  wonderful  fra- 
ternal climax  uplifted  them!  With  crash 
of  thunder  and  wrack  of  the  elements  the 
Storm  must  break,  directly  the  popular  feel- 
ing found  immediate  object  of  its  ire. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ATTACK  ON  DANTON 

But  the  royalists  were  not  idle.  Their 
spies  attended  the  meetings.  Their  swords- 
men provoked  street  encounters  with  pop- 
ular leaders. 

They  had  always  coped  with  popular  fer- 
ments by  picking  off  the  individual  leaders, 
and  they  did  not  doubt  their  ability  to  do 
the  same  thing  now.  As  Danton  spoke,  an 
influential  Royalist,  pretending  to  handclap 
his  sentiments,  privately  signaled  to  a  num- 
ber of  these  "spadassins"  or  killers. 

On  his  way  home  from  the  meeting  Dan- 
ton  was  attacked  in  the  lonely  street.  He 
backed  up  to  a  house  porch,  quickly  drew 
his  own  sword,  and  with  herculean  strength 
managed  to  cut  down  five  or  six  spadassins 
of  the  advance  party. 

Then  he  fled  to  the  house  where  Hen- 
riette  and  also  Robespierre  lodged,  rushed 
in  and  up  the  stairs.  The  following  com- 
pany were  almost  upon  him.  Their  shouts 
and  cries  could  be  heard  below. 


62      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Danton  plumped  into  the  first  door  at  the 
left  of  the  stair-head.  He  was  there  when 
Henriette,  who  had  been  momentarily 
away,  returned  to  her  room. 

"The  spies — spadassins — they  would  take 
my  life — "  He  was  wounded.  It  was  with 
a  difficult  hoarseness  that  he  spoke. 

The  little  homekeeper  put  a  warning  fin- 
ger to  mouth.  Running  past  him  to  the 
door,  she  slipped  out  and  closed  it.  She 
withdrew  to  the  back  of  the  hall,  and  came 
forward  nonchalantly  as  the  assassins 
reached  the  hallway. 

Rapier  at  her  throat,  the  leader  put  the 
silent  but  terrible  question.  Henriette's 
heart  jumped.  She  managed  not  to  show 
her  terror. 

"I  saw  a  man  going  up  those  stairs  three 
steps  at  a  time !"  she  lied  superbly,  pointing 
to  the  floor  above. 

The  company  ran  up  the  third-floor  stairs 
on  the  double  jump.  As  they  vanished,  she 
was  inside  her  rooms  again  and  with  the 
quarry. 

Minutes  passed.  The  spadassins  searched 
the  top  garrets.  They  sought  the  roof,  saw 
escape  was  impossible  that  way.  Then  they 


THE  ATTACK  ON  DANTON      63 

clattered  down  the  stairs.  The  leader  hesi- 
tated at  Henriette's  door. 

"Faugh!"  he  said.  "The  girl  is  just  a 
simpleton,  she  couldn't  have  tricked  us!" 

At  his  command  the  men  marched  down 
— to  encounter  unexpectedly  a  company  of 
national  gendarmes  that  had  been  hurriedly 
summoned  to  the  scene  of  the  disturbance. 

In  the  porch  melee  Danton's  side  had 
been  painfully  slashed.  Despite  the  pain, 
he  recognized  his  little  preserver  and 
thanked  her.  Still  holding  his  hand  to  his 
side  and  half-reeling,  he  moved  to  go.  Now 
that  all  semed  quiet,  he  proposed  to  rid  her 
of  the  compromising  presence  of  a  man  in 
her  room. 

Henriette  seized  him  with  her  little  arms. 

"No,  no,  you  can't  go !"  she  said  with  a 
little  smile  of  divine  pity.  "Better  a  little 
gossip  about  me  than  that  you  should  lose 
your  life."  Henriette  locked  the  door ! 

She  strove  to  carry  the  disabled  giant  to 
the  nearest  chair.  Leaning  heavily  on  her, 
he  walked  with  an  effort  and  plumped  down 
on  it.  One  of  his  arms  was  around  her.  She 
tried  to  free  it,  but  it  clung.  With  hands 
and  knees  she  crawled  out  backward  from 
the  unconscious  embrace. 


64      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

It  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  minutes  to 
wash  and  bind  his  wound.  Next  she  spread 
a  pallet  on 'the  floor,  assisted  him  to  it, 
wrapped  him  warmly,  and  with  a  kind 
"Good  night!"  left  him  to  go  to  her  little 
boudoir.  .  . 

That  same  night  the  spadassins  were  met 
and  disarmed  by  the  gendarmes  who 
(largely  owing  to  Danton's  eloquence)  es- 
poused the  people's  side.  And  that  is  why 
Monsieur  Robespierre,  his  confrere,  was 
abroad  very  early,  without  fear  of  assassins, 
and  nosing  for  news. 

"I  hear  Danton  was  in  a  little  trouble  last 
night!"  gossiped  the  slick  citizen  with  his 
landlady.  "The  fight  was  in  this  very 
house,  was  it  not?" 

The  landlady,  it  seemed,  was  ignorant  of 
Danton's  refuge.  But  Robespierre  sus- 
pected. He  decided  to  investigate,  being  a 
stickler  for  propriety.  Mounting  the  stairs 
stealthily,  he  knocked  at  Henriette's  door. 

The  girl  and  the  man  were  at  their  leave- 
taking.  Few  words  were  spoken.  The 
giant  clasped  both  her  little  hands  in  his 
great  paws. 

"What  you  have  done  for  me  I  shall  never 
forget!"  he  was  saying. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  DANTON      65 

"Oh,  if  I  had  a  great  kind  brother  like 
this!"  was  her  sudden  thought. 

"Whisht!"  she  whispered  vocally  as  the 
knock  was  heard.  Again  the  little  gesture 
of  warning  finger  to  mouth. 

She  stole  to  the  keyhole  and  thought  she 
recognized  the  habiliments  of  her  neighbor 
the  dandy.  Motioning  Danton  back  out  of 
sight  she  opened  the  door  on  the  crack, 
closed  it  as  she  slipped  through,  and  en- 
countered the  bowing  and  smirking  Robes- 
pierre. 

"A  man  escaped  from  the  spadassins  here 
last  night — did  he  find  refuge  with  you?" 

"You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur.  I  am  quite 
alone." 

"May  I  just  see?  Very  intimate  friend 
of  mine,  I  am  sure." 

"No,  you  may  not!"  Henriette  quickly 
reentered,  and  slammed  and  locked  the  door 
on  the  future  Dictator  of  France.  Twas 
only  a  little  door  slam,  but  it  re-echoed  later, 
even  at  the  Gates  of  Death!  Rubbing  his 
long  nose  Robespierre  took  snuff. 

"Sh-h,  he  is  still  there!"  whispered  the 
girl  to  Danton,  with  another  look  through 
keyhole.  Presently  steps  were  heard  going 
downstairs. 


66      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"I  think  he  is  gone!"  she  said,  verifying 
her  statement  by  again  opening  the  door 
and  finding  the  coast  clear. 

Danton,  with  a  final  good-by,  went  his 
way. 

The  sneak,  however,  had  retraced  his 
downstairs  steps  with  cat-like  tread.  In  an 
alcove  of  the  back  hall  he  had  found  a  hid- 
ing post. 

As  Danton's  broad  back  descended  down 
the  steps,  a  vulpine  head  peered  out  of  the 
alcove,  and  Robespierre's  cunning,  self- 
satisfied  look  showed  that  he  recognized 
Henriette's  visitant. 


CHAPTER  XI 

LOUISE  BEFORE  NOTRE  DAME 

In  the  days  following  her  immurement  in 
the  dreadful  sub-cellar,  Louise  became  the 
Frochards'  breadwinner.  Her  pathetic 
blindness,  lovely  face  and  form,  and  sweet 
young  voice  attracted  sympathy  from  each 
passer-by.  The  offerings  all  went  into  the 
capacious  pocket  of  La  Frochard,  whence 
indeed  most  of  them  were  stolen  or  cajoled 
by  her  worthless  scamp  of  a  Jacques. 

The  old  hag  feared  only  lest  she  lose  her 
precious  acquisition  of  the  blind  girl.  She 
guarded  her  ceaselessly,  and  warded  off  dan- 
gerous questioners. 

It  was  not  easy,  however,  to  avoid  the 
good  Doctor  from  La  Force,  who  gave  them 
a  donative  and  looked  at  the  girl  with  deep 
professional  interest.  Despite  the  beggar's 
tactics,  he  insisted  on  examining  the  pupils, 
then  called  La  Frochard  aside. 

"Don't  encourage  her  too  much,"  said  the 
old  gentlemen  kindly,  "but  bring  her  to  me. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  she  can  be  cured." 

Rejoining  Louise  and  smiling  her  wheed- 


68      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

ling  beggar's  smile  at  the  departing  Doctor, 
the  features  of  Widow  Frochard  suddenly 
contorted  in  black  rage — she  shook  her  fist 
at  the  physician  directly  his  back  was 
turned.  Monstrous — to  restore  sight,  and 
thus  make  the  girl  worthless  as  object  of 
charity!  La  Frochard  felt  she  had  good 
reason  for  her  rage. 

"Can  the  Doctor  do  anything?"  ventured 
Louise  to  the  hag,  timidly. 

"No,  he  said  your  case  is  hopeless." 

They  were  standing  now  near  the  snowy 
steps  of  Notre  Dame,  awaiting  worshippers 
whose  pity  would  be  stirred  by  the  girl's 
misfortune.  Half-drunken  Jacques  had 
reeled  out  of  a  cabaret  to  exact  his  share  of 
the  plunder.  Mother  and  first-born  cursed 
heartily  the  scissors-grinder  Pierre  who 
came  limping  up,  saying  he  could  get  no 
jobs  on  account  of  the  bitter  cold,  wintry 
day.  Kicking  the  cripple  and  twisting 
Louise's  arm  were  the  favorite  pastimes  of 
Jacques  and  the  Widow. 

On  this  occasion  the  hag  snatched  the 
covering  from  the  wretched  girl's  shoulders 
and  put  it  around  her  own.  "You'll  shiver 
better  without  that  shawl !"  she  said,  brut- 


LOUISE  BEFORE  NOTRE  DAME  69 

any  setting  the  scene  for  the  worshippers' 
charity. 

"Jacques  and  I,"  she  continued,  "are  go- 
ing to  get  a  little  drink  to  warm  our  frozen 
bodies. 

"Guard  her  there,  you  good-for-nothing 
Pierre,  or  I'll  break  every  bone  of  your 
body!"  They  departed  to  spend  the  Doc- 
tor's gold-piece. 

Pierre  tried  vainly  to  comfort  the  girl. 
He  could  but  find  her  a  seat  in  a  pile  of 
snow !  He  warmed  her  hands  with  his  own, 
strove  to  speak  cheering  words.  But  teeth 
were  chattering,  and  her  frail  form  was 
quivering  as  with  the  ague. 

A  great  wave  of  pity  and  love  over- 
whelmed the  cripple.  He  peeled  off  his  coat, 
beneath  which  were  but  the  thinnest  rags. 
He  wrapped  it  around  her,  saying: 

"There,  there!  this  will  help  you  keep 
warm.  I  really  do  not  need  it — I — I-am- 
not-c-c-cold !" 

His  own  teeth  were  chattering  now,  and 
his  pinched  features  were  purple. 

The  blind  girl  touched  his  icy  arm,  half 
exposed  by  his  ragged  shirt,  as  she  rose  to 
sing  for  the  charity  of  those  who  attended 
mass. 


70      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"No,  no,  Pierre,"  she  cried,  removing  the 
coat  from  her  shoulders,  "I  will  not  let  you 
freeze.  Oh,  how  selfish  I  am  to  permit  you 
to  suffer,  who  have  been  so  kind  to  me !" 
,  Rejecting  his  entreaties,  she  made  him 
put  it  on  again,  hiding  her  own  suffering. 
*  "Hearken!  there  sounds  the  organ  for 
the  recessional !"  she  continued.  "Soon  the 
people  will  be  coming  out.  I  will  sing  the 
same  songs  that  my  sister  Henriette  and  I 
used  to  sing.  Perhaps  some  one  will  recog- 
nize the  melody,  and  lead  me  back  to  her!" 

A  beautifully  majestic,  ermined  figure 
stepped  graciously  out  of  the  church,  as  La 
Frochard  rejoined  Louise  and  began  whin- 
ing :  "Charity !  In  the  name  of  God,  Char- 
ity!" whilst  the  girl's  voice  lifted  up  in  an 
old  plaintive  melody. 

The  lady  was  the  Countess  de  Linieres, 
returning  from  her  devotions. 

The  song  evoked  memories  of  a  bitter 
past  and  of  a  long  lost  daughter  snatched 
from  her  in  infancy.  Bending  over  poor 
Louise,  she  asked :  "My  child,  can  you  not 
see  me?" 

"No,  Madame,  I  am  blind,"  was  the  low, 
sad  answer. 

A  strange  sympathy  stirred  in  the  Coun- 


LOUISE  BEFORE  NOTRE  DAME  71 

tess  for  this  girl.  There  seemed  to  be  some 
hidden  link  between  them,  the  nature  of 
which  baffled  her.  "She  felt  the  impulse  to 
protect  and  cherish — was  it  the  voice  of 
Mother  Love  obscurely  speaking? 

"Alas!"  said  Louise.  "Blindness  is  not 
the  worst  of  my  misfortunes.  I-I — " 

La  Frochard  administered  a  terrible  pinch 
that  pulled  Louise  away,  then  "mothered" 
her  cutely.  "We  are  starving,  my  beautiful 
lady,"  she  whined,  "and  the  poor  girl  is  out 
of  her  head.  What  is  that  you  say?  Not 
mp  daughter?  Yes,  indeed  she  is — the  pre- 
cious— and  the  youngest  of  seven.  Char- 
ity, charity !  In  the  name  of  God,  charity  P' 
she  sniffled. 

Reluctantly  Countess  de  Linieres  stifled 
the  impulse  to  mother  this  kindred  and  hap- 
less young  being,  averred  to  be  the  beggar's 
daughter.  She  placed  a  golden  louis  on  the 
palm  of  the  singer,  saying: 

"Give  this  to  your  mother,  child." 


CHAPTER  XII 

LOVE,  MASTER  OF  HEARTS 

The  Count's  demands  brought  to  a  head 
a  resolve  that  had  taken  possession  of 
Chevalier  de  Vaudrey's  heart  and  soul.  Al- 
ways the  picture  of  the  sweet  Norman  girl 
he  had  saved  from  de  Praille's  foul  clutches 
was  in  his  waking  thoughts,  of  nights  he 
dreamed  a  blessed  romance!  He  recked 
not  of  the  Count's  displeasure,  sorrowed 
that  he  must  displease  his  Aunt  as  sorely. 
The  only  bar  was  that  a  vision  of  the  lost 
Louise  stood,  as  it  were,  between  him  and 
his  beloved  Henriette. 

Now  that  he  had  come  to  her  to  speak  of 
his  proposal,  the  little  heart  still  quested  for 
the  lost  sister. 

"Don't  you  ever  think  of  anyone  but 
her?  "he  asked. 

A  negative  shake  of  the  golden  head  and 
ringleted  curls  was  the  answer,  though  the 
cupid  mouth  and  the  blue  eyes  smiled  with 
tenderness.  They  stood  very  close  to  an- 
other, like  poles  of  a  magnet  twixt  which  a 
spark  flashes. 


LOVE,  MASTER  OF  HEARTS     73 

Silently  Maurice  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
ring.  'Twas  of  pure  gold,  a  lovely  and  ex- 
quisite bauble,  whereof  the  two  little  claws 
clasped  a  golden  heart.  He  handed  it  to 
Henriette,  who  took  it  with  a  happy  smile 
till  she  realized  its  meaning  as  betrothal. 

A  wave  of  color  overspread  her  cheek, 
The  heir  of  the  de  Vaudreys  to  give  himself 
to  her!  Pride  and  love  mingled  in  her 
thoughts. 

Yes,  to  throw  himself  away  on  a  Com- 
moner girl — he  meant  it.  Flashed  the  pic- 
ture on  her  mental  retina  of  the  little  sol- 
emn oath  to  Louise.  What  he  asked  was 
impossible — for  him  and  for  her. 

Henriette  handed  back  the  ring. 

"Marry  you — an  aristocrat!  Why,  that 
would  ruin  you  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world!" 

He  was  down  on  his  knees,  pleading, 
agonized,  distressed,  looking  for  some  sign 
of  relentment  from  the  beauteous  little 
head  that  seemed  rigidly  to  repress  emotion. 

"Then  you  d-o-n-'t  1-o-v-e  m-e?"  he  fal- 
tered at  last,  rising. 

"No!"  was  the  reply,  in  a  firm  but  very 
small  voice. 

The  broken  Chevalier  started  slowly  for 


74      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

the  door.  He  turned  slightly  and  caught 
the  sound  of  sobs. 

Wheeling  around,  he  saw  her  arms  half 
stretched  towards  him.  He  bounded  back. 

He  was  now  kissing  the  hem  of  her  gar- 
ments, her  gloves,  her  roses,  her  fingertips, 
and  crying  extravagantly,  almost  shouting 
the  words :  "You  DO  love  me !" 

Gently  Henriette  imparted  a  maiden's 
delicate  kiss  on  his  cheek.  "When  Louise 
is  found — "  she  was  half  sobbing  in  his 
arms,  " — dreams — yes — perhaps  you  might 
find  a  way  to  bring  them  true !" 

But  the  gallant  gentleman  jumps  for- 
ward to  the  end  of  the  dream.  Youthfully 
swearing  that  Louise  will  soon  be  found,  he 
visions  their  exquisite  happiness  as  of  to- 
morrow or  the  day  after.  He  holds  her  de- 
lightedly, then  draws  her  closer.  The  kin- 
dred magnets  are  one. 

Lips  meet  lips  in  soul-kiss  that  cause  the 
maidenly  head  to  hide  under  elbow  in  con- 
fusion. Kissing  almost  every  part  and  fur- 
nishing of  that  dear  second  self — vowing 
never  to  rest  till  he  brings  Louise  and  takes 
Henriette — the  ecstatic  cavalier  is  gone! 

Alas  for  the  quickly  visioned  dream-facts 
of  twenty-four !  Full  long  shall  be  the  in- 


LOVE,  MASTER  OF  HEARTS     75 

terval  betwixt  the  bright  Utopia  and  the 
heavenly  reality: — the  dungeon,  the  Storm, 
the  death  chamber  and  e'en  the  shining  axe 
shall  intervene. 

A  great  Nation  shall  have  thrown  off  its 
old  tyrants  and  weltered  in  the  blood  of  new 
tyranny.  What  matter?  The  souls  of  the 
girl  and  the  man  are  one,  they  shall  be  faith- 
ful unto  the  End! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  RECOGNITION 

The  Chevalier  de  Vaudrey  sought  his 
Aunt  and  begged  her  to  see  his  beloved  be- 
fore finally  siding  with  the  Count  against 
him.  The  incident  of  the  chance  encounter 
with  the  blind  girl  had  stirred  the  Countess, 
awakened  renewed  pity  for  hapless  love 
such  as  she  herself  had  once  experienced. 
She  decided  to  visit  Henriette,  if  only  to 
divert  her  from  the  seemingly  mad  project 
of  a  union  with  the  Chevalier. 

Meantime  Count  Linieres  had  decided  to 
exercise  the  power  of  the  dread  lettres  de 
cachet.  In  the  France  of  that  day,  personal 
rights  were  unknown.  Subject  only  to  the 
King's"  will,  no  other  warrant  than  the  Pre- 
fect's signature  was  required  to  send  any- 
one into  exile  or  to  life  imprisonment.  The 
means  that  Linieres  now  had  in  mind  were 
often  used  to  quell  rebellious  lovers. 

He  would  brand  this  inconvenient,  pre- 
sumptuous Henriette  Girard  as  a  fallen 
woman,  imprison  her  at  La  Salpetriere,  and 
then  ship  her  as  a  convict  to  Louisiana. 
That  would  get  rid  of  her,  truly! 


THE  RECOGNITION  77 

In  the  meanwhile  the  Chevalier,  if  dis- 
obedient, could  cool  his  heels  in  the  prison 
tower  of  the  royal  fortress  at  Caen.  After 
a  while,  he  might  indeed  see  reason  and 
think  better  of  marrying  the  Princesse  de 
Acquitaine ! 

He  summoned  the  Chevalier.  The  auto- 
cratic Count  brooked  no  words;  he  com- 
manded marriage  with  the  State  heiress — 
or  exile! 

His  nephew  refusing,  the  guards  were 
summoned,  the  young  man  gave  up  his 
sword,  and  under  their  escort  he  was  pres- 
ently on  his  way  to  Caen  prison. 

Then,  summoning  a  detail  of  military  po- 
lice, the  Count  moved  to  carry  out  the  other 
part  of  his  plan. 

"You  are  Mademoiselle  Henriette  Gi- 
rard?"  inquired  the  Countess  kindly  on  en- 
tering the  girl's  lodgings. 

Henriette  greeted  the  distinguished  and 
aristocratic  lady  with  due  respect.  Making 
her  comfortable  in  a  guest  chair,  she  re- 
sumed her  sewing  and  listened. 

"I  am  the  aunt  of  the  Chevalier  Maurice 
de  Vaudrey."  The  girl,  startled,  looked  up 


78      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

from  her  work.  "Marriage  between  you 
and  the  Chevalier  is  impossible." 

"I  love  him,  Madame,"  replied  Henriette, 
simply. 

"Then  it  is  your  duty  to  give  him  up, 
since  it  is  the  will  of  the  King  that  he  marry 
Princesse  de  Acquitaine — " 

Henriette  paled.  For  an  instant  the  blue 
eyes  looked  near-tigerish,  with  green  and 
yellow  lights.  Yet  she  must  save  Maurice 
from  the  King's  wrath. 

"If  you  will  make  this  sacrifice,"  con- 
tinued the  Countess,  "I  shall  not  prove  un- 
grateful with  any  reward  that  is  in  my 
power." 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is!"  replied  Henriette 
earnestly.  She  showed  the  Countess  her 
sampler,  on  which  she  was  working  the 
word — 

LOUISE 

"Louise — that  name  is  very  dear  to  me," 
replied  the  Lady  softly.  She  visioned  a 
scene  of  long  ago  when  an  infant  Louise 
had  been  snatched  from  her  young  arms — 
the  arms  of  a  mother  deprived  of  her  off- 
spring. ^ 

"She  is  my  sister,"  resumed  Henriette — 


THE  RECOGNITION  79 

"lost,  wandering  and  alone,  on  the  streets 
of  Paris.  Oh,  help  me  find  her,  and  I — I 
will  do  anything  you  say !"  The  poor  crea- 
ture sobbed  in  her  double  misery. 

She  pointed  to  her  own  eyes  in  gesture  to 
portray  Louise's  misfortune:  "Blind — so 
helpless — it  was  just  like  taking  care  of  a 
baby."  She  told  the  story  of  her  abduction 
and  the  loss  of  her  sister,  then  of  Chevalier 
de  Vaudrey's  vain  efforts  and  hers  to  trace 
her. 

The  Countess  de  Linieres  leaned  forward 
in  intense  sympathy  conjoined  with  a  cer- 
tain weird  premonition. 

"She  isn't  really  my  sister,"  went  on  Hen- 
riette,  "but  I  owe  her  the  love  of  a  mother 
and  sister  combined.  She  saved  us  from 
want  and  death.  My  father  found  her  on 
the  steps  of  Notre  Dame — " 

A  low  cry  escaped  the  Countess. 

" — where  he  was  about  to  put  me  as  a 
foundling,  there  not  being  a  morsel  of  food 
in  our  wretched  home.  This  other  baby 
was  half  buried  under  the  snow.  He 
warmed  the  little  bundle  against  his  body 
and  mine — and,  rather  than  let  us  perish 
there  of  the  cold,  returned  homeward  with 
both  infants  in  his  arms.  Suspended  from 


80      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

the  other  baby's  neck  were  a  bag  of  gold 
and  this  locket — " 

The  Countess  gasped.  She  put  a  hand 
to  her  heart  and  seemed  about  to  faint  be- 
fore recovering  strength  to  examine  the 
locket  that  Henriette  handed  to  her. 

It  was  a  miniature  that  the  Prefect's  wife 
recognized  as  her  own! 

Opened,  it  disclosed  an  aged  and  yellowed 
bit  of  paper,  on  which  the  writing  was  still 
visible : 

HER  NAME  IS  LOUISE 
SAVE  HER 

"My  child!  My  own  Louise!"  she  cried. 
" — lost,  wandering  and  blind  in  Paris.  Tell 
me,  tell  me — "  She  had  almost  fainted. 
The  floodgate  of  tears  relieved  her  pent 
heart. 

Henriette  was  bending  over  her  now,  her 
arm  around  her  shoulders,  trying  to  com- 
fort. 

But  the  girl  herself  was  near  the  break- 
ing point.  The  voice  of  the  loved  and  ab- 
sent one  seemed  to  sound  in  her  ears. 

Was  it  an  hallucination  ? 

"Singing, — don't  you  hear?"  said  Hen- 
riette, softly,  to  the  Mother. 


THE  RECOGNITION  81 

The  girl  brushed  a  hand  across  her  eyes 
and  tapped  her  temple. 

"In  my  dreams  oft  I  hear  it,  my  sister's 
voice.  I  must  be  losing  my  reason !" 

Again  swelled  the  notes  of  the  Norman 
melody,  and  this  time  the  Mother  heard 
too. 

The  two  sprang  to  their  feet. 

Henriette  dashed  to  balcony  window.  At 
the  end  of  the  street  she  saw  a  figure  clad 
in  beggar's  rags  that  she  thought  she  knew. 

"LOUISE!" 

Henriette's  cry  echoed  down  the  street 
and  impinged  on  the  blind  beggar's  brain. 
The  outcast  ran  groping  and  stumbling  for- 
ward, no  longer  singing,  but  calling  "Hen- 
riette !"  Her  keper,  Widow  Frochard,  was 
not  in  sight. 

The  blind  girl  came  nearer.  Frochard 
emerged  from  a  ginshop  and  tried  to  head 
her  off.  The  Mother  followed  Henriette  to 
the  window.  The  latter  encouraged  Louise 
with  little  cries: 

"Don't  get  excited!" 

"It's  all  right!" 

"Wait  there!" 

"I'll  be  down  in  one  instant!" 


82      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

She  rushed  past  the  Countess  across  the 
room  and  flung  wide  the  door,  on  the  very 
brink  of  happiness. 

But  a  troop  of  guards  stood  there  to  her 
astonished  gaze.  The  Count  de  Linieres, 
standing  at  their  head,  pronuonced  her 
name  as  if  reading  a  warrant:  "Henriette 
Girard!" 

The  girl  drew  back,  then  charged  Hke  a 
little  fury  on  the  gunstocks  and  bosoms  of 
the  troopers,  pounding  them  with  her  lists. 

Unable  to  move  this  granite-like  wall,  she 
dashed  back  to  the  balcony  eyrie,  imploring 
Louise  with  both  hands. 

"Arrest  her !"  said  de  Linieres  to  the  sol- 
diers. 

Brawny  troopers  pulled  her  back  as  she 
would  have  jumped  out  of  the  window  to 
the  flagging  below — and  her  Louise.  Vainly 
the  Countess  de  Linieres  entreated  for 
mercy.  They  dragged  the  girl  downstairs. 

Here  again  she  made  a  frantic  appeal  and 
wild  effort  to  join  her  blind  charge,  who  was 
being  hurried  away  in  the  vise-like  grip  of 
La  Frochard. 

"Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  have  pity — let 
me  go  to  my  sister,  or  I  shall  lose  her 
again !" 


THE  RECOGNITION  83 

Deaf  to  her  entreaties,  they  took  her  to 
La  Salpetriere,  this  loveliest  of  virgins,  to 
be  immured  among  the  foul  characters 
there! 

END  OF  PART  ONE 


PART  II 
CHAPTER  XIV 

DOWN  IN  THE  DEPTHS 

With  Henrietta  condemned  to  the  cruel 
fate  of  immurement  in  a  prison  for  the  fal- 
len, the  Chevalier  trussed  up  in  royal  Caen, 
and  his  aunt  the  Countess  prostrated  by  the 
hag's  recapture  of  and  disappearance  with 
the  noblewoman's  long-lost  daughter,  blind 
Louise,  'twould  seem  as  if  our  characters 
faced  indeed  blank  walls  of  ruin,  misery  and 
despair,  from  which  no  power  could  rescue 
them. 

In  those  times,  the  utter  vanishing  of  per- 
sons who  incurred  police  disfavor  was  no 
uncommon  incident.  Often  no  public 
charge  was  made;  merely  the  gossiped 
whisper  that  So-and-So  lay  in  Bastille  or 
La  Salpetriere  "at  the  royal  pleasure,"  kept 
the  unfortunate  faintly  in  memory  till  the 
lapse  of  years  caused  him  or  her  to  be  for- 
gotten. And,  sometimes,  even,  at  the  prison 
gate,  identity  vanished.  Did  not  the  cele- 
brated and  mysterious  Man  in  the  Iron 


DOWN  IN  THE  DEPTHS         85 

Mask  carry  his  baffling  secret  through  dec- 
ades of  dungeon  death-in-life  to  the  pris- 
oner's dark  grave? 

Others  were  silently  transported  to  exile 
overseas.  As  England  had  her  Botany  Bay, 
so  France  had  Louisiana.  Let  us  take  a 
glance  at  La  Salpetriere  (as  Henriette  is  be- 
ing dragged  there  by  Count  de  Linieres' 
troopers)  to  look  at  the  sights  and  scenes  of 
the  famous  female  prison,  and  contemplate 
what  the  inmates  had  in  store. 

There  was  no  interesting  toil  to  relieve 
their  unhappy  lot,  and  no  distinction  was 
made  of  the  insane,  the  law-breaking  crim- 
inal, and  the  wretched  streetwalker  or  demi- 
mondaine.  In  the  court-yard,  during  the 
exercise  periods,  the  only  talk  was  of  the 
terms  of  imprisonment  and  of  the  chances 
of  Louisiana.  In  that  gray  monotony  the 
ministrations  of  the  charitable  Sisters, 
headed  by  the  saintly  Sister  Genevieve  (who 
had  been  born  within  the  walls  of  the 
prison),  furnished  the  one  bright  spot. 

"Do  not  grieve  so !"  said  one  of  the  older 
inmates  who  had  begged  a  little  needle- 
work, to  a  novice  who  was  seated  on  a 
bench,  weeping  convulsively  with  her  head 
in  her  arms. 


86      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"Oh,  I  can  never  live  such  a  life  as  this !" 
replied  the  poor  girl,  giving  way  to  new 
grief. 

"Try  to  do  something  or  other,  'twill 
make  you  forget  your  troubles." 

"I've  never  done  anything  in  my  life — 
except  amuse  myself!"  replied  the  ex-gri- 
sette. 

"That  would  be  precious  hard  work  in 
this  place,"  said  a  third  speaker,  who  had 
passed  several  years  of  the  dreary  inactions 
of  prison  life. 

"Well,  anyhow,  IVe  had  my  fling!"  re- 
marked the  newcomer,  drying  her  eyes. 
"Scores  of  admirers  crowded  around  me, 
willing  to  ruin  themselves  for  my  amuse- 
ment— "  she  said  in  a  vivacious  manner,  as 
she  recalled  her  past  triumphs. 

"And  it  all  peters  down  to  prison,  eating 
gruel  with  a  wooden  spoon,"  said  the  cyn- 
ical old-timer ;  "then,  some  day,  we  shall  be 
treated  as  those  poor  creatures  were  yester- 
day— hurried  off  with  a  guard  of  soldiers 
to  see  us  safe  on  our  weary  exile — " 

"Does  the  idea  of  exile  frighten  you?" 

"Who  would  not  be  frightened  at  the  idea 
of  being  led  off  amid  insults  and  jeers — 
condemned  to  a  two  months'  voyage  in  the 


(D.    II~.   Griffith'' s  "Orphans  of  the  Storm") 

ONE  OF  THE  BEAUTIES  OF  THE  GARDEN  FETE  OF  BEL-AIR. 


DOWN  IN  THE  DEPTHS         87 

vilest  company — and  at  the  end  of  it  be 
landed  in  a  wild  country  to  face  the  alterna- 
tives of  slavery  or  a  runaway  into  the  sav- 
age swamps?" 

"Plenty  of  work  to  relieve  monotony — " 

"They  say  women  are  scarce  out  there  in 
Louisiana.  Perhaps  I  shall  get  a  husband, 
and  revenge  myself  on  the  male  creation 
that  way — " 

Their  speculations  were  cut  short  by  the 
entry  of  a  squad  of  troopers  literally  drag- 
ging tiny  Henriette  Girard  within  the 
prison  walls.  Cold  and  unfeeling  at  best, 
these  men  had  no  sympathy  with  their 
young  charge  whom  they  naturally  be- 
lieved to  be  one  of  the  harpies  or  half-wits 
caught  in  the  policy  dragnet.  They  thrust 
her  mid  the  crowd  in  the  courtyard  and  de- 
parted. The  great  iron  doors  clanged  shut. 
The  gatekeeper  turned  the  massive  key. 
Henriette — without  a  friend  in  the  world 
to  appeal  to — was  an  inmate  of  dread  La 
Salpetriere ! 

Like  a  flock  of  magpies  the  imprisoned 
demi-mondaines,  petty  thieves,  and  grosser 
criminals  for  love  or  for  hate,  crowded 
around  the  girl,  inquiring  what  offence  had 
brought  her  amongst  them. 


88      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"I  am  innocent!" 

Her  little  sobbing  cry  of  self-justification 
was  received  with  jibes  and  winks.  Was 
not  such  the  formula  of  every  prisoner? 
They  pressed  her  for  her  story.  Looking 
at  these  ignoble  spirits,  the  girl  could  not 
bear  to  acquaint  them  with  her  pure  and 
holy  romance. 

As  she  turned  away,  a  new  shock  met  her 
gaze. 

Faugh!  What  was  this  physical  weak- 
ness, this  nausea-like  repulsion,  but  the 
bodily  reaction  from  the  tense  spiritual 
agony  she  had  suffered? 

Courage!  She  must  look  again.  That 
wild  woman — hair  down,  breath  gasping, 
arms  weaving  threateningly — was  coming 
at  her  like  a  murderess.  Momentarily  Hen- 
riette  expected  the  long  arms  to  seize  her, 
the  steel-like  hands  and  wrists  to  choke  her. 

She  looked  yet  a  third  time.  The  crazy 
"murderess"  had  veered  her  course,  but 
what  was  that  other  object  nearby?  A 
Niobe  weeping  for  her  own  and  the  world's 
sorrows !  Or  this  one  over  here — a  shriek- 
ing maniac  calling  on  all  Hell's  legions  for 
vengeance  on  fancied  enemies!  Beyond, 
gibbering  victims  of  paresis,  white-haired 


DOWN  IN  THE  DEPTHS         89 

idiots,  wasted  sufferers  from  senile  de- 
mentia. 

Not  a  friendly  face,  not  a  kind  look  nor 
an  understanding  eye!  Crime,  passion, 
foulness,  insanity.  The  sheer  horror  of  her 
situation  mercifully  blotted  out  conscious- 
ness. She  sank,  a  crumpled  heap  to  the 
floor. 

"The  girl  is  sick,"  said  Sister  Genevieve, 
who  had  entered  at  this  moment  and  was 
presently  bending  over  her.  "Here,  two  of 
you  lift  her  and  carry  her  into  the  hospital 
— we  shall  have  the  good  Doctor  from  La 
Force  attend  her!"  Two  of  the  sturdier 
prisoners  bore  her  away.  .  . 

Beautiful,  pitiful  Henriette! 

The  horrors  of  the  madwomen  thou 
facest  in  Salpetriere;  the  obscene  shouts 
and  curses  of  the  fallen ;  the  fury  of  the  fe- 
male criminal;  the  misery  of  the  poor  dis- 
tracted half-wits,  where  mad  and  sane  are 
given  the  same  cell : — these  shall  be  but  con- 
fused phantasmagoria  projected  on  thy  sick 
brain  during  this  prison  time  before  the 
awful  Storm  breaks — the  lightning  strikes 
— the  thunder  crashes,  and  the  sharp  female 
called  La  Guillotine  holds  thee  in  its  em- 
brace. 


90      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

From  the  tumbril  shalt  thou  find  and  kiss 
the  blind  girl,  and  Maurice  de  Vaudrey  shall 
accompany  thee  into  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

LIGHT  RAYS  -IN  THE  DARKNESS 

Henrietta  was  nursed  through  a  severe 
mental  and  bodily  illness  by  the  Sister  Gen- 
evieve  directed  by  the  visiting  prison  Doc- 
tor, none  other  than  him  who  had  examined 
the  eyes  of  Louise  before  Notre  Dame. 

During  this  period  it  was  quite  impos- 
sible for  the  attendants  to  get  her  story. 
She  herself  in  lucid  moments  could  hardly 
realize  her  situation,  nor  in  any  wise  re- 
member how  she  had  come  to  it. 

But  one  day  new  strength  seemed  to  be 
hers.  Feverish  and  with  hair  unbound  and 
a  wild  light  in  her  eyes,  she  sprang  out  of 
her  cot,  sought  Genevieve  in  the  main 
prison,  and  knelt  before  her. 

"Oh,  Madame!"  cried  Henriette  in  im- 
ploring accents,  "if  you  are  the  mistress 
here,  have  pity  on  me,  and  order  them  to  set 
me  free.  I  ask  you  on  my  knees !" 

"You  are  still  ill,  my  child,"  said  Sister 
Genevieve  tenderly,  stroking  Henrietta's, 
long  hair  with  a  gentle,  loving  touch. 

"Certainly  you  are,"  confirmed  the  Doc- 


92      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

tor,  who  was  just  then  on  his  way  to  the 
hospital  ward.  "Why  have  you  left  your 
bed  without  my  permission?" 

"Oh,  monsieur!"  said  the  poor  girl,  turn- 
ing to  the  gentle-voiced,  pleasant-faced  man 
who  spoke  so  kindly,  "have  you  attended 
me  in  my  illness?  Look — thanks  to  your 
care — I  have  recovered!"  she  affirmed  con- 
fidently, though  her  hectic  features  and 
weak  motions  belied  it. 

"They  left  me  alone  for  a  few  moments, 
and  I  arose  and  dressed  myself.  Now  that 
you  see  I  am  quite  well,  you  will  tell  them 
to  let  me  go,  will  you  not?" 

The  Doctor  gazed  at  her  compassionately 
before  answering: 

"That  is  impossible.  To  release  you  from 
this  place  requires  a  far  greater  power  than 
mine." 

"This  place  ?"  asked  the  young  girl  in  sur- 
prise. "Why,  what  is  it?  Is  it  not  a  hos- 
pital?" 

"A  hospital  and  a  prison,"  replied  the 
physician  gravely. 

"A  prison!"  exclaimed  Henriette  in  ter- 
ror, striving  to  remember  how  she  came  to 
be  in  such  a  place. 

At  last  the  events  that  preceded  her  ill- 


LIGHT  RAYS  IN  THE  DARKNESS  93 

ness  gradually  came  back  to  her  mind,  until 
she  understood  all. 

"Ah,  I  remember,"  she  said  at  length. 
"Yes,  I  remember  the  soldiers  who  dragged 
me  here,  and  him  who  commanded.  .  . 
And  Maurice — was  he  too  condemned? 
Alas,  poor  Louise — my  last  sight  of  her 
showed  her  in  the  power  of  vile,  unscrupu- 
lous wretches !  Oh,  dear  God,  what  have  I 
done  to  be  crushed  like  this!" 

She  dropped,  weeping  and  wailing,  to  the 
floor. 

"Sister,"  said  the  Doctor,  turning  away 
to  hide  his  tears,  "this  is  not  a  case  for  my 
care.  You  must  be  the  physician  here." 

"I  know  virtue  and  innocence  when  I  see 
it,  surely  this  child  has  done  nothing  worthy 
of  a  term  at  Salpetriere !"  replied  the  kind 
Genevieve  softly,  lifting  up  the  stricken  girl 
and  embracing  her. 

"Come,  dear,  you  must  rest  yet  a  little 
longer  in  order  to  acquire  the  full  strength 
so  as  to  be  able  to  tell  me  everything.  As- 
suredly we  will  help  you !" 

In  the  course  of  convalescence  Henriette 
'told  her  complete  story  to  Sister  Genevieve. 
The  narrative  included  the  girls'  journey  to 


94      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Paris,  her  kidnapping  and  rescue,  the  dis- 
appearance of  Louise,  de  Vaudrey's  suit  and 
the  objections  of  his  family,  the  recognition 
of  her  sister  as  the  Countess's  long-lost 
daughter,  Louise's  recapture  by  the  beg- 
gars, and  the  peremptory  act  of  the  Police 
Prefect  whereby  mother  and  daughter,  and 
beloved  foster-sisters,  were  cruelly  parted, 
and  Henriette  branded  with  the  mark  of 
the  fallen  woman  by  incarceration  in  La 
Salpetriere. 

Sister  Genevieve  was  strangely  moved  by 
it,  as  was  the  Doctor  to  whom  she  re- 
peated it. 

"Against  the  will  of  the  Police  Prefect 
we  can  do  nothing!"  said  the  Doctor,  so- 
berly. "If  only  his  wrath  has  cooled,  we 
may  possibly  get  her  term  shortened — " 

"What  monstrous  wickedness!"  inter- 
rupted the  Sister,  ordinarily  mild  and  loyal, 
but  worked  up  to  near-democracy  by  these 
and  other  injustices.  "To  imprison  a  pure 
girl — her  only  offence  a  nobleman's  honor- 
able suit  and  her  own  ceaseless  search  for 
her  blind  sister,  lost  in  the  streets  of  Paris !" 

"This  girl  Henriette  was  her  blind  sister's 
sole  support,"  suggested  a  nurse. 

"I  had  found  her — Louise — at  the  mo- 


LIGHT  RAYS  IN  THE  DARKNESS  95 

ment  when  they  arrested  me,"  exclaimed 
Henriette  sorrowfully.  "I  heard  her  voice. 
I  saw  her.  She  was  covered  with  rags.  Her 
beautiful  golden  hair  fell  in  disorder  on  her 
shoulders.  She  was  being  dragged  along 
by  a  horrible  old  woman,  who  I  know  ill- 
treats  her — beats  her,  perhaps,  and  they 
would  not  let  me  go  to  her.  Now  I  have 
lost  her  forever — forever!" 

"Wait  a  minute,  my  child,"  exclaimed  the 
physician,  as  a  sudden  thought  flashed  over 
him.  "I  believe  I  have  met  that  very  same 
girl." 

"You,  monsieur?"  exclaimed  Henriette 
in  surprise. 

"Yes — yes,  a  young  girl  led  by  an  old 
woman  who  calls  her  Louise — " 

"Yes — yes,  that's  her  name,"  and  the 
young  girl  became  breathless  with  excite- 
ment. 

"I  know  the  old  woman,  too,"  continued 
the  Doctor.  "She  is  called  La  Frochard — 
an  old  hag  who  goes  about  whining  for  alms 
in  the  name  of  Heaven  and  seven  small 
children. 

"Where  did  I  last  see  them?"  he  mused. 
Suddenly  he  recollected  a  little  scene  on  the 
steps  of  Notre  Dame  one  morning  before 


96      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

mass.  "Oh,  yes,"  he  continued,  "they  were 
begging  for  charity  of  the  churchgoers  at 
Notre  Dame.  I  noticed  that  the  young  girl 
was  blind — professionally  interested,  I  ex- 
amined her  pupils  and  discovered  she  was 
merely  suffering  from  cataracts  which 
could  be  readily  removed.  I  told  the  old 
woman  so,  asked  her  to  bring  the  girl  for 
treatment  to  La  Force,  but  they  have  never 
shown  up—" 

"Quick !  Quick !"  cried  Henriette.  "Tell 
'me,  Doctor,  where  Mere  Frochard  lives?" 

"Oh,  they  inhabit  an  old  boathouse  at  the 
end  of  the  Rue  de  Brissac  down  on  the 
banks  of  the  river  Seine.  There's  a  cellar 
entrance  to  their  hovel  near  the  Paris-Nor- 
mandy coach  house.  But  what  would  you 
do?"  he  inquired  solicitously. 

"Oh,  Sir,"  said  Henriette  piteously,  "if 
you  could  use  your  influence  to  get  me  out 
of  here  some  way,  I  would — would  run 
there  and  recover  my  little  lost  sister !  You 
don't  know  how  I  love  her,  nor  my  fears 
that  they  will  kill  her.  Please,  please — " 
The  little  voice  broke  off  in  sobs. 

Patting  the  girl's  shoulder  and  smiling  at 
her  as  if  to  try  to  impart  confidence  in  a 
very  difficult  matter,  the  good  Doctor  drew 


LIGHT  RAYS  IN  THE  DARKNESS  97 

apart  with  Sister  Genevieve  and  conferred 
earnestly  for  a  few  moments.  On  their  re- 
turn, the  physician  spoke  again: 

"  'Twould  be  of  no  use  to  invoke  the  po- 
lice, as  the  Count  has  probably  instructed 
them  not  to  hunt  for  Louise.  Nor  is  it  in 
our  power  to  release  you  from  here.  But 
we  shall  get  up  a  petition  signed  by  all  of 
us  for  your  reprieve,  very  likely  Count  de 
Linieres  will  not  venture  to  refuse  it — " 

Henriette  was  overjoyed  even  with  this 
slender  resource,  and  warmly  thanked  them. 
At  once  her  busy  little  brain  laid  plans  for 
invading  the  lair  of  the  Frochards.  And 
then — a  most  unexpected  ray  in  the  dark- 
ness— arrived  at  Salpetriere  the  quaint 
valet  Picard  and  brought  her  comfort  too. 

No  longer  a  spy  for  the  Count,  he  had 
been  converted  from  base  suspicion  by  the 
Chevalier's  honorable  suit  and  the  exile  the 
latter  had  suffered.  He  now  delivered  this 
little  message  from  his  master  at  Caen : 

Dearest,  never  will  I  marry  anyone  but  you,  my 
1/oart's  desire !  Should  I  escape,  it  will  be  to  your  arms. 
Picard  knows  my  secret  plan  and  will  tell  you — until 
then,  courage !  A  thousand  kisses  from  your  Maurice. 

Henriette  kissed  the  little  paper  fer- 
vently. 


98      ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Countess  de  Linieres  decided  to  make  a 
clean  breast  of  her  wretched  past  to  her 
husband.  "It  was  not  that  I-I  sinned,"  she 
sobbed,  kneeling-  at  his  feet.  "In  the  sight 
of  God  I  am  innocent,  though  erring! 

"In  early  girlhood,"  she  continued,  "I 
loved  and  was  loved  by  a  Commoner,  a  man 
of  the  people.  The  good  Cure  married  us 
secretly.  We  were  blessed  by  an  infant 
daughter. 

"The  family  pride  of  the  de  Vaudreys  was 
outraged  by  the  so-called  dishonor.  Two 
of  the  clan  found  our  hiding-place  and  slew 
my  husband,  then  took  my  baby  Louise 
from  my  helpless  arms.  I  was  brought  back 
to  the  chateau  and  given  in  marriage  to  you, 
after  threats  of  death  if  I  should  ever  di- 
vulge the  secret!  Twenty  years  after,  I 
saw  my  daughter  as  Louise  the  blind  singer 
— the  girl  Henriette,  whom  you  sent  to  Sal- 
petriere,  is  her  foster-sister.  Oh,  forgive, 
forgive — put  me  away  if  you  wish,  but  con- 
sider what  I  have  suffered!  .  .  ." 

The  strong  man,  whom  neither  the  fate 
of  Maurice  nor  of  Henriette  had  melted, 
was  crying-.  Gently  he  lifted  up  the  Coun- 
tess and  clasped  her  sobbing  in  his  arms. 

"If  you  had  only  told  me  before — "  was 


LIGHT  RAYS  IN  THE  DARKNESS  99 

%| 

the  only  word  to  which  he  could  give  utter- 
ance. 

The  hellish  aspect  of  his  persecutions 
now  stood  revealed.  Count  de  Linieres,  in 
the  act  of  divine  forgiveness,  resolved  to 
undo  wrongs. 

But  History  struck  faster. 

The  avenger  Jacques-Forget-Not  anni- 
hilated pardons.  The  Linieres  and  the  other 
aristocrats  were  soon  to  flee  for  their  lives. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

REVOLUTION  IS  HERE! 

The  ex-retainer  nicknamed  "Forget-Not" 
bore  a  baleful  grudge  because  of  the  cruel- 
ties inflicted  on  his  own  father  many  years 
before  by  the  Countess's  father — the  cruel 
punishment  of  pouring  boiling  lead  into  the 
unfortunate  tenant's  veins:  a  proceedure 
on  which  the  boy  Chevalier  had  been  taught 
to  look  approvingly. 

In  fact  ever  since  the  elder  Jean  Setain 
displeased  the  then  Seigneur  of  the  de  Vau- 
drey  estate,  the  affairs  of  the  tenant  family 
had  gone  to  wrack  and  ruin  until  the  mid- 
dle-aged son  was  little  more  than  a  landless 
beggar  and  an  embodied  voice  calling  for 
vengeance. 

The  original  parties  of  the  quarrel  were 
dead.  But  the  feud  (on  the  part  of  Jacques- 
Forget-Not)  had  taken  on  a  more  personal 
aspect,  because  his  own  sufferings  were  in- 
volved as  well  as  the  memory  of  his  father's. 
He  had  determined  to  kill  the  Chevalier, 
the  Countess  and  the  Count. 

In  normal  times  the  monomaniac's  de- 


REVOLUTION  IS  HERE        101 

signs  would  never  have  reached  fruition. 
Now  the  vast  public  discontents  converted 
the  cringing  ex-tenant  or  shrieking  beggar 
into  a  gaunt,  long-haired,  ferocious  agita- 
tor— one  of  the  outstanding  crazy  figures 
of  Great  Crises ! 

For  the  Storm — long  brewing  in  sedi- 
tious Palais  Royal  or  seething  faubourg, 
in  the  heart  and  conscience  of  patriot  Dan- 
tons,  the  cunning  of  Robespierres,  the  wild- 
ness  of  Desmoulins  fire-eaters,  the  starva- 
tion and  misery  of  the  people — struck  the 
doomed  country  with  full  force. 

In  the  outcome  the  fat  King  Louis  XVI, 
the  hapless  royal  family,  and  the  whole  sup- 
porting system  of  parasitic  aristocracy, 
were  hurled  down  into  black  nothingness! 
The  upset  released  our  characters  from  the 
horrors  of  prison  immurement,  only  to 
plunge  them  in  the  more  awful  tyranny  of 
the  New  Terror. 

Early  in  midsummer  the  wildest  rumors 
reached  Paris  that  the  Versailles  govern- 
ment intended  to  put  down  the  discontents 
by  weight  of  sword.  Armies  were  advanc- 
ing on  the  city,  'twas  averred — cannon  and 
arms  were  being  parked  in  the  commanding 


102    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

squares ;  the  King's  faithful  Allemands  and 
Swiss  were  about  to  attack  the  representa- 
tives of  the  people  and  mow  them  down. 

As  a  beehive,  stirred  by  over-curious  bear 
or  by  an  invader's  stick,  seethes  and  swarms 
in  milling-  fury  before  the  myriads  of  angry 
occupants  attack  and  overwhelm  the  in- 
truder with  their  stings,  so  the  seething 
populace  mills  in  widening  and  ever  widen- 
ing circles,  out  to  destroy — burn — slay.  The 
ominous  drum  murmurs  to  the  people  of 
their  ancient  wrongs.  Artisans  pick  up 
their  nearest  implements,  the  butcher  his 
axe,  the  baker  his  rolling  pin,  the  joiner  his 
saw,  the  iron  worker  his  mallet  or  crowbar, 
rushing  to  join  the  homicidal  throngs. 
Vengeful  leaders  like  Forget-Not  urge  them 
on,  directing  the  milling  masses  to  the  cen- 
tral places  of  the  city. 

At  the  Palais  Royal  gardens,  later  from 
the  Cafe  de  Foy,  Camille  Desmoulins  is  in 
his  glory.  See  him  "rushing  out,  sibylline 
in  face;  his  hair  streaming,  in  each  hand  a 
pistol!  He  springs  to  a  table:  the  police 
satellites  are  eyeing  him;  alive  they  shall 
not  take  him;  not  they  alive,  him  alive. 

"  'Friends,  shall  we  die  like  hunted 
hares?  Us,  meseems,  only  one  cry  befits: 


REVOLUTION  IS  HERE         103 

To  arms!  Let  universal  Paris,  universal 
France,  as  with  the  throat  of  the  whirl- 
wind, resound:  To  arms!  Friends  (con- 
tinues Camille)  some  rallying  sign !  Cock- 
ades, green  one;  the  color  of  hope!'  As 
with  the  flight  of  locusts,  these  green 
leaves ;  green  ribands  from  the  neighboring 
shops;  all  green  things  are  snatched  and 
made  cockades  of  ....  And  now  to 
Curtius'  image  shop  there;  to  the  boule- 
vards ;  to  the  four  winds,  and  rest  not  until 
France  be  on  fire !" 

Ancient  flint-locks,  pikes  and  lances  are 
replevined,  and  dance  high,  minatory,  over 
the  heads  of  the  mob.  Storerooms  of  pow- 
der and  musketry  are  broken  into  and 
swept  clean.  Behold,  now,  a  still  more  as- 
tonishing sight;  a  rushing  tide  of  women, 
impetuous,  all-devouring,  equipped  with 
brooms  and  household  tools,  descending 
like  a  snowbreak  from  all  directions  upon 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  "And  now  doors  fly  un- 
der hatchets;  the  Judiths  have  broken  the^ 
armory;  have  seized  guns  and  cannon, 
three  money-bags,"  and  have  fired  the 
beautiful  City  Hall  of  King  Henry  the 
Fourth's  time ! 

.     .     .     And   where   the   Storm  breaks 


104    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

fiercest  and  the  cry  "Down  with  Tyrants !" 
most  loudly  sounds,  there  Danton  the 
revolutionist,  the  pock-marked  Thunderer, 
leads  the  way,  whipping  up  new  fury  and 
moulding  them  to  his  will  with  his  appeal 
'gainst  "Starvation — oppression — ages  of 
injustice — vile  prisons  where  innnocent 
ones  die  under  autocracy!" 

Danton's  voice  shakes  the  world. 

Thousands  upon  thousands  of  common- 
ers gather  for  the  attack  on  the  hated  sym- 
bol of  royal  authority,  the  prison  fortress 
of  Bastille. 

Look!  His  impassioned  eloquence 
touches  the  popular  sympathies  of  the 
common  soldiers  who  constitute  the  royal 
guard.  They  lower  their  opposing  bayo- 
nets, identify  their  cause  with  the  people's, 
the  exultant  throng  rushes  past. 

Hurrah !  The  Revolution  shall  sweep  on. 
The  King's  foreign  soldiery  are  the  only 
loyal  ones  now.  At  the  side  of  the  Place 
de  Greve  the  populace  throw  up  barricades. 
The  conflict  twixt  Kingship  and  democracy 
has  begun. 

The  people  have  won  more  cannon  and 
more  small  arms.  They  rake  the  loyalist 
Swiss  and  Germans  with  a  murderous  fire. 


REVOLUTION  IS  HERE         105 

The  foreign  troops  fight  to  the  last.  They 
are  killed  or  overwhelmed  as  the  victorious 
commonalty  take  possession  of  the  Square. 
Danton  who  has  directed  the  proletariat  is 
the  popular  hero. 

Forget-Not  has  his  share  of  the  triumph 
too.  "Come,  my  men,"  he  yells.  "On  to 
the  Police  Prefect's  palace — let  us  avenge 
the  wrongs  of  police  tyranny!"  For  in 
this  dreadful  hour  the  baleful  Jacques-For- 
get-Not remembers  a  private  vengeance — 
his  followers  need  no  second  urging  to 
haste  with  him  to  sack  and  slaughter  .  .  . 

Fox-like,  Maximilien  Robespierre,  the 
"people's  advocate,"  has  watched  from  a 
safe  recess  the  issue  of  the  battle.  Not  for 
him,  the  risking  of  his  precious  skin! 
Later,  in  the  councils  of  the  new  democratic 
State,  he  shall  sway  men  to  his  pur- 
poses .  .  . 

And  now  the  mob,  re-enforced  by  many 
of  the  popular  soldiery,  seeks  the  Bastille. 
Our  previous  description  of  the  system  of 
lettres  de  cachet  and  the  wholesale  im- 
prisonments without  warrant  of  law,  will 
have  given  readers  some  idea  of  the  hate 
with  which  this  fortress  of  injustice  was 
commonly  regarded.  Many  of  the  attackers, 


106    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

no  doubt,  had  friends  or  relatives  immured 
there.  .'Twas  the  monstrous  and  visible 
crime  of  the  Kingship — the  object  all  had 
immediately  in  view  when  crying  "Down 
with  tyranny!" 

In  less  than  a  day  the  Bastille  falls. 
'Tis  but  feebly  defended  by  a  few  aged 
veterans  and  a  handful  of  valiant  Swiss. 
Their  first  fire  kills  some  of  the  commoners 
and  lashes  the  mob  to  fury.  Up  on  the 
walls,  bastions  and  parapets,  away  from  the 
guns  at  the  port  holes,  crawl  some  of  the 
more  daring  attackers.  Others  bring  can- 
non, preparing  to  carry  the  siege  by  can- 
nonade, investiture  and  starvation. 

The  governor,  seeing  that  it  is  a  losing 
fight,  parleys  and  yields.  But,  instead  of 
observing  the  terms  of  the  honorable  sur- 
render and  safe-conduct,  the  inrushing  mob 
slays  and  mutilates  a  number  of  the  officers 
and  defenders — the  first  inkling  of  what 
murder  and  rapine  the  Wild  Beast  of  the 
Proletariat  will  commit! 

"Set  free  the  victims  of  the  tyrants!"  is 
the  sole  thought  after  the  lust  of  blood  is 
satiated.  The  dungeons  are  opened,  the 
prisoners  brought  forth,  joy  of  reunion  or 
pathos  of  sorrow  is  the  result  of  these 


REVOLUTION  IS  HERE         107 

strange  meetings,  manyof  the  victims  be- 
ing but  the  wrecks  or  shadows  of  their  old 
selves. 

"Set  free  the  victims  of  tyranny!" 

After  the  Bastille  La  Salpetriere,  the 
famous  female  prison,  is  summoned.  Al- 
ready the  inmates  are  on  the  qui  vive  of 
expectation.  Mad  and  sane  are  flying  about 
from  cells  to  courtyard,  and  courtyard  to 
barred  windows,  like  birds  in  storm-flight. 

Impatient,  restless  little  Henriette,  be* 
tween  the  bars  of  her  cage,  is  looking  out 
wonderingly  on  a  re-made  world.  What 
does  it  mean?  Release?  the  easy  path  to 
her  lost  Louise  ? 

Pray  Heaven  it  does — 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PRISON   DELIVERY— AND  AN  ENCOUNTER 

The  jailers  deliver  the  keys;  the  mob 
pours  tmultuously  into  the  female  prison. 
What  cries  of  joy,  what  sobs  of  relief  from 
the  saner  inmates,  as  they  try  to  think  their 
new,  almost  incredible  jail  delivery !  What 
stony,  uncomprehending  glances  or  what 
wild  shrieks  from  the  maniacal !  Amid  this 
confused  throng  Picard,  who  has  entered 
with  the  crowd  to  wait  upon  his  mistress, 
presents  a  comic  figure.  He  has  arrayed 
himself  in  the  red-and-white  striped  garb 
of  the  proletariat,  is  trying  his  best  to  look 
a  Revolutionary,  though  all  he  gets  for  it 
are  kicks  and  wallops ! 

Sense  and  nonsense  mix  strangely  in  the 
proceedings  of  the  mob.  They  set  up  a 
rude  court  headed  by  two  horny-handed 
butchers,  the  object  of  which  is  to  separate 
the  innocent  from  the  guilty.  But  the  new 
red-and-white  cockade — superseding  the 
green  cockades  of  the  first  battle — is  the 
best  passport  to  their  favor.  Inmates 
whose  friends  have  provided  them  with 


PRISON  DELIVERY  109 

these  Revolutionary  badges,  are  generally 
turned  loose.  Shouting  and  laughing  in 
their  glee,  they  dance  out  of  the  prison. 

Picard  has  provided  Henriette  with  his 
badge,  whilst  Sister  Genevieve  and  the 
Doctor  vouch  to  her  good  character.  Hen- 
riette kisses  the  cockade  as  a  sign  of  fealty 
to  the  new  order.  The  brawny  judges  let 
her  pass.  She  runs  merrily  out  past  the 
harmless  gauntlet  of  the  friendly  pikes  and 
lances. 

Not  so  Picard —  That  luckless  valet 
tries  to  sneak  out  past  the  big  chopper  of 
the  brawny  butcher-judge. 

Whir-r!  The  chopper  descends  in  front 
of  him,  almost  taking  his  head  off ! 

Picard  executes  a  strategic  retirement  to 
the  rear.  There!  Isn't  there  seemingly  a 
good  chance  to  crawl  out  between  the  other 
guardian's  legs,  and  thus  escape? 

Picard  tries  it. 

Alas!  the  first  butcher  catches  sight  of 
Picard's  be-tufted  head  protruding  in  this 
strange  manner  from  under  the  crotch  of 
his  fellow.  The  Man  of  Meat  grasps  Picard 
firmly  by  the  collar  and  pulls  him  forth. 

With  the  other  hand  he  raises  the  axe 
to  chop  the  offender's  head  off,  thinks  bet- 


110    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

ter  of  it,  twirls  Picard  swiftly  around,  and 
using  the  flat  of  the  chopper  spanks  the 
rear  of  the  Picard  anatomy,  sending  him 
sprawling  into  the  limbo. 

So  that  little  Henriette's  excursion  into 
Freedom  is  unattended  and  alone.  It  is 
quite  unlikely  that  she  bothers  about  Picard 
at  all.  "Louise!  Rue  de  Brissac!"  is  the 
sole  thought  of  her  whirling  little  brain,  as 
she  speeds  on. 

Just  where  is  the  Frocards'  cellar  door? 
Certainly  she  has  never  noticed  it  in  her 
frequent  searches  of  the  Pont  Neuf  district. 
But  perhaps  some  one  can  tell  her —  She 
is  in  the  Rue  de  Brissac  now,  almost  at  the 
spot  where  she  herself  was  kidnapped  and 
Louise  was  lost. 

A  good-looking  daughter  of  the  people 
comes  hurrying  by. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  the  Frochards 
live?"  inquires  Henriette  eagerly. 

The  girl  points  to  an  almost  indistin- 
guishable trap-door,  nearly  covered  with 
straw,  in  front  of  one  of  the  houses. 
"There!"  she  says.  Henriette  presses  the 
newcomer  to  accompany  her.  "Sorry,  I 
haven't  a  minute !"  negatives  the  other,  has- 


PRISON  DELIVERY  111 

tening  off  in  spite  of  Henriette's  efforts  to 
detain  her. 

Henriette  opens  the  trap-door  of  the  cel- 
lar where  the  Frochards  lodged,  and  peers 
within.  Courageously  she  goes  down  the 
steps.  Sympathy  and  horror  struggle  in 
the  thought  of  Louise  being  an  inmate  of 
this  foul  place. 

What  is  her  disgust  then  to  encounter 
the  wart-faced  and  moustachioed  hag  who 
is  its  proprietor!  Quickly  Henriette  tells 
La  Frochard  of  her  information,  and  de- 
mands Louise. 

"I  dpn't  know  any  such  person,"  the  hag 
lies,  with  ready  effrontery.  "You  must  be 
mistaken !" 

But  Henriette's  eyes  are  gazing  at  the 
Frochard's  neck,  sensing  something  or 
other  vaguely  familiar.  The  old  woman, 
who  has  been  drinking,  has  unloosened  her 
nondescript  rig.  The  girl's  gaze  sees  a 
well-remembered  object. 

"My  sister's  shawl!" 

The  blue  eyes  are  gleaming  now  in  as- 
tonishment— with  a  hint  of  coming  fury. 
She  snatches  the  shawl  from  La  Frochard's 
shoulders,  fondles  and  caresses  it.  Then 


112    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

like  a  small  tigress  robbed  of  whelp  she 
advances  on  the  beggar,  shaking  her  in 
paroxysmal  rage. 

It  would  have  been  a  comical  sight  if  not 
so  very  serious  a  one;  the  tiny  Henriette 
shaking  a  woman  twice  her  size,  pummel- 
ing  her,  brow-beating  her  till  La  Frochard 
sinks  to  her  knees  and  begs  for  mercy. 

"You  have  been  lying,  and  that  shawl 
proves  it,"  cries  Henriette.  "Where  is 
she?" 

The  old  woman  gets  up.  She  changes 
her  tone  to  a  whine,  and  tries  to  pat  Hen- 
riette in  pretended  sympathy.  "Well,  if 
you  must  know  the  truth — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  cries  Henriette,  "go  on !" 

" — she  Tvas  with  us,  but  alas! — poor 
thing — with  the  hard  life  we  have  to  lead 
— she — she  died!" 

The  searcher  for  Louise  reels  as  if  about 
to  faint. 

She  collects  herself  with  difficulty,  and 
stares  at  La  Frochard.  A  distraught  look 
is  on  the  girl's  face. 

It  is  a  look  of  utter  misery,  compounded 
with  mistrustfulness  of  the  deceiving  hag. 
»  She  leaves  the  cellar,  fully  resolved  to 


PRISON  DELIVERY  113 

invoke  the  Law — if  Law — in  this  wild  time 
— there  can  be  found   .    .    . 

A  bundle  of  rags,  on  which  Henriette 
has  almost  stepped  in  passing,  moves  very 
slightly. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"THERE  IS  NO  LAW—" 

The  wild  and  drunken  madness  of  the 
triumphant  people  expended  itself  in  many 
strange  forms,  of  which  none  was  strang- 
er, more  awesome,  more  ludicrous  and  yet 
more  tragic  than  the  Carmagnole. 

This  was  a  dance  that  seized  whole  multi- 
tudes in  its  rhythmic,  swaying  clutch.    The 
tune  was  "Ca  Ira!"  that  mad  measure  of 
the  sansculottes,  meaning  roughly — 
"Here  it  goes — 
"And  there  it  goes!" 

— and  go  forever  it  did  till  all  the  world 
of  Paris  seemed  a  heaving,  throbbing  vor- 
tex of  werewolves  and  witches,  things  low- 
er than  animals  in  their  topsyturvydom, 
drunken  frenzy  and  frequent  obscenity. 

The  throng  through  which  Henriette 
now  directed  her  steps  was  verging  on  this 
madness,  though  not  yet  at  the  pitch  of  it. 

Henriette  managed  to  find  her  way  to 
two  sanculotte  troopers  stationed  in  the 
centre  of  the  Place,  to  whom  she  told  her 
Story.  Reasonable  fellows  they  seemed,  of- 
fering to  conduct  her  presently  to  the  new 


"THERE  IS  NO  LAW—"         1 1 5 

authorities  and  get  a  search  warrant  for  the 
Frochard  clan.  But  the  madder  swirl  of 
the  Carmagnole  came  along,  and  presto! 
swallowed  them  up.  It  happened  on  this 
wise: 

As  the  locust  swarms  of  the  dancers  en- 
veloped them  in  shortening  circles,  two 
young  and  attractive  maenads  broke  from 
the  throng  and  literally  entwined  them- 
selves with  the  troopers.  Military  dig- 
nity, assaulted  in  burlesque,  tried  to  keep 
its  post.  But  the  bold  nymphs  were 
clinging,  not  to  be  "shaken"  ;  as  the  mad 
whirl  of  the  dancers  touched  the  centre, 
the  troopers  and  their  female  captors  were 
borne  away  in  the  ricochetting,  plunging 
motions,  disappearing  thenceforward  from 
our  story.  Little  Henriette  dived  to  a  place 
of  safety,  the  side  wall  of  the  nearest  build- 
ing. Straightening  herself  after  the  un- 
expected knocks  and  bruises,  she  looked 
aghast  at  the  scene  before  her. 

Whole  streets  of  them,  plazas  of  them, 
these  endlessly  gyrating  male  and  female 
loons ;  swirls  of  gayety,  twisting,  upsetting 
passers-by  like  a  cyclone; — arms,  bodies 
and  legs  frantcially  waving,  as  at  the  very 
brink  of  Dante's  Inferno ! 


116    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Strange  little  dramas  of  lust  and  con- 
quest punctuated  the  cyclonic  panorama. 
Here,  a  girl's  snapping  black  eyes,  winking 
devilishly,  and  pursed-up  Cupid  mouth  in- 
vited a  new  swain  to  master  her.  There,  a 
short-skirted  beauty,  whose  sways  and 
kicks  revealed  bare  thighs,  was  dancing 
wildly  a  solo  intended  to  infatuate  further 
two  rival  admirers.  Again,  a  half-crazed 
sansculotte  had  won  a  girl  and  in  token  of 
triumph  was  spinning  her  body  horizont- 
ally around  like  a  top,  upheld  by  the  open 
palm  of  his  huge  right  arm. 

But  what  might  be  this  comic  figure, 
quite  unpartnered — knocked  and  shoved 
from  human  pillar  to  human  post — winning 
the  deep  curses  of  the  dancers,  and  their 
hearty  wallops  when  not  o'er-busied  with 
Terpsichore  ? 

Picard,  the  ex-valet  of  aristocracy,  finally 
let  out  from  the  Salpetriere  mock-court, 
had  stumbled  into  this  bedlam  of  sans- 
culotte craziness,  the  rhythm  and  proceed- 
ure  of  which  were  as  foreign  to  him  as  a 
proposition  in  Euclid. 

But  the  Jolly  Baker,  from  the  He  de 
Paris,  was  his  match.  The  bare-armed, 
lean-legged  pleasurer  had  equipped  himself 


"THERE  IS  NO  LAW—"         117 

(by  way  of  disguise)  with  a  large  false 
moustache,  and  evading  the  close  watch  of 
his  hatchet-faced,  middle-aged  spouse,  had 
come  forth  to  celebrate.  Neither  dancer 
nor  vocalist,  the  Jolly  Baker  had  other  little 
entertaining  ways  all  his  own. 

As  the  foolscap-crowned,  white-and-red- 
trousered  Picard  bumped  the  pave,  he  saw 
squatting  opposite  him  a  figure  whose 
gleaming  eyes,  ferocious  whiskerage  and 
lean-wiry  frame  suggested  the  canine 
rather  than  the  human  species.  The  Jolly 
Baker  was  a  bum  werewolf,  but  a  "hot 
dog." 

The  gleaming  eyes  never  left  Picard's 
face,  the  dog-like  body  jumped  whichever 
way  he  did,  Picard  half  expected  the  dog- 
man  to  bite  or  snap  the  next  instant  and 
take  a  chunk  out  of  him.  Both  had  got 
to  their  feet  now;  the  stranger  still  silent 
and  nosey,  Picard  looking  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye  for  a  way  of  escape.  But  just 
then  the  Baker  spied  a  maenad  with  a  drum. 

One  could  beat  drum  in  celebration,  if 
naught  else.  Lo  and  behold,  the  posterior 
of  the  foolscapped  one  would  serve  for  a 
drum  very  nicely !  The  Jolly  Baker  twisted 


118    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Picard  around,  bending  him  half  double  as 
he  did  so. 

With  a  rear  thrust  and  firm  shoulder 
grip,  the  Jolly  Baker  leaped  upon  Picard's 
back.  Emulating  the  young  woman's  beat- 
ing of  the  drum,  he  rained  a  shower  of 
blows  on  the  valet's  hind  quarters. 

The  new  "drum"-beater  was  now  quite 
the  cynosure  of  admiring  attention.  He 
had  captured  the  centre  of  the  stage.  He 
gloried  in  it.  With  a  more  elaborate,  fanci- 
ful and  complexive  "rat-tat-tat-rat-a-tat- 
tat-tat-tat-tat — " 

He  suddenly Alost  his  grip  of  the  "human 
drum,"  Picard  wriggled  out  from  under, 
and  the 'drummer  bumped  his  own  posterior 
on  the  pave. 

Calmly,  quite  undisturbed,  the  foolish 
Baker  continued  to  "rat-tat-tat"  with  a 
stick  on  the  curb,  then  as  the  "Ca  Ira"  beats 
resounded  above  him,  his  own  squatting 
body  began  to  sway  with  the  music  in  a 
heightened  absurdity.  Picard  had  run  off. 
He  was  convinced  these  people  were  crazier 
than  any  of  those  in  the  mad  cells  of  Sal- 
petriere  .  .  . 

Long  since  Henriette  had  evaded  the 
worse  sights  and  sounds  by  creeping  as  best 


"THERE  IS  NO  LAW—"         119 

she  could  along-  the  side  walls  of  the  build- 
ings, watching  her  chance  to  get  away  from 
the  revelers.  Again,  at  the  street  corner, 
another  swirl  passed  over  her,  knocking  her 
down.  Ruefully  she  picked  herself  up 
again. 

The  throng-  had  passed  by  completely, 
leaving  but  a  drunken  fool  prancing  here 
and  there,  or  a  scant  winrow  of  half-pros- 
trate figures.  Henriette  ran  with  all  her 
might  to  the  only  refuge  she  knew — her  old 
faubourg  lodgings. 

The  middleaged  landlady  who  in  days 
agone  had  fetched  the  guard  to  subdue 
Danton's  would-be  assassins,  and  who  like- 
wise had  resented  Robespierre's  prying  as 
to  the  identity  of  Henriette's  visitor,  stud- 
ied the  girl  at  first  a  bit  quizzically.  Re- 
leased from  Salpetriere,  eh?  Was  she  the 
same  sweet,  pure  Henriette  she  knew? 
Yes,  the  little  Girard — la  petite  Girard — 
looked  to  be  the  same  hard-working,  re- 
spectable seamstress  person  of  yore,  only 
that  she  seemed  very  weak  and  about  to 
collapse ! 

The  landlady  folded  Henriette  within  one 
stout  arm. 


'120    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

She  pointed  with  her  free  hand  to  the 
bedchamber  immediately  above. 

"Your  old  room  up  there  awaits  you," 
she  remarked  kindly.  "As  soon  as  you 
have  recovered  strength  a  bit,  I  have  no 
doubt  the  old  sewing  job  will  be  yours  too !" 

.  .  .  Jacques-Forget-Not  and  his 
men  arrived  too  late  at  the  Prefect's  palace 
for  complete  vengeance  on  the  de  Vau- 
dreys. 

Around  the  historic  Fourteenth  of  July, 
there  was  a  pell-mell  exodus  of  aristocrats 
from  the  city.  A  panic-stricken  servant 
brought  the  Count  de  Linieres  tidings  of 
the  people's  victory. 

"Fly,  monsieur !  Fly,  madame !"  he  cried. 
"The  troops  are  overthrown,  the  Bastille 
surrounded,  before  nightfall  the  mob  will 
surely  attack  here  and  try  to  kill  your  excel- 
lencies. Fly,  I  implore  you !" 

Other  messengers  confirmed  the  news, 
and  thus  it  happened  that  the  erstwhile 
proud  and  arrogant  Minister  of  Police  who 
but  yesterday  had  ruled  France  was  reduced 
to  making  the  most  hurried  preparations 
for  flight,  aided  by  the  distracted  Countess. 

The  latter  realized  with  a  pang  that  the 


"THERE  IS  NO  LAW—"         121 

hegira  meant  farewell,  perhaps  forever,  to 
the  chance  of  recovering  her  lost  daughter 
Louise  from  this  welter  of  Paris.  How 
mysterious  the  ways  of  the  Higher  Power ! 
Her  beloved  nephew  the  Chevalier,  at  least, 
was  safe  in  the  distant  fortress  to  which 
the  Count  her  husband  had  condemned  him. 
Pray  God  Louise  might  be  saved — ,  yes! 
and  her  foster-sister  Kenriette,  beloved  of 
the  Chevalier — Henriette  whom  her  hus- 
band had  branded  by  unjust  accusation  .  . . 

The  de  Linieres  party  succeeded  in  evad- 
ing the  fate  of  numbers  of  the  runaway 
aristocrats,  who  were  bodily  pulled  out  of 
their  coaches  and  trampled  upon  or  strung 
up  by  the  infuriated  mobs.  They  managed 
to  make  their  way  to  the  northeastern  bor- 
ders of  France.  There  thousands  of  emi- 
gres were  received  under  the  protection  of 
foreign  powers,  awaiting  the  ripe  moment 
for  the  impact  of  foreign  armies  on  French 
soil  and  the  hoped-for  reconquest  of  the 
monarchists  .  .  . 

That  night  the  beautiful  Hotel  de  Vau- 
drey — home  of  the  Vaudrey  and  Linieres 
family  and  fortune — was  given  up  to  sack 
and  pillage.  Enraged  that  the  objects  of 


122    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

his  vengeance  had  fled,  the  leader  Forget- 
Not  ordered  a  general  demolition. 

Priceless  works  of  art  were  hurled  about 
and  destroyed.  The  cellars  of  old  wines 
were  quickly  emptied  by  drunken  revelers. 
The  kitchen  and  pantries  catered  to  the 
mob's  gluttony.  Wenches  arrayed  them- 
selves in  the  Countess's  costly  silks  and 
linens;  perfumed,  powdered  and  painted 
with  the  cosmetics;  preened  and  perked  in 
the  cheval  mirrors. 

Among  the  motley  crew  of  destroyers, 
drunkards,  gluttons,  satyrs  and  sirens,  our 
friend  the  Jolly  Baker  was  on  the  job — 
unfortunately  for  him,  accompanied  this 
time  by  his  hatchet-faced  spouse. 

He  started  a  flirtation  with  a  new-made 
vamp,  all  tricked  out  in  stolen  finery.  The 
Jolly  Baker  had  found  a  new  use  for  his 
eyes  and  eyebrows,  i.  e.,  to  convey  love 
messages.  He  was  making  the  most  alarm- 
ing motions  and  succeeding  most  prodi- 
giously in  evoking  the  new  vamp's  answer- 
ing smiles  when — 

"Ker-plunk!" 

— Dame  Baker  fetched  him  a  tremendous 
slap  directly  on  the  face  that  caused  him  to 
tee  innumerable  little  stars. 


"THERE  IS  NO  LAW—"         123 

Gradually  coming-  back  to  this  mundane 
world,  the  Jolly  Baker  resolved  to  devote 
his  strict  attention  to  the  bottle  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XIX 

KNIFE  DUEL  AND  ESCAPE 

The  bundle  on  the  cellar  floor  of  the 
Frochards  den  stirred  again,  this  time  more 
actively. 

The  crippled  knife-grinder  Pierre  had  en- 
tered. His  mother  was  again  busied  with 
her  potations.  Under  the  half-lifted  rags 
showed  the  tear-stained  face  of  Louise. 
The  heavy  fatigue  of  street  mendicancy  had 
wrapped  her  in  deep  sleep,  from  which  she 
woke  with  a  start  to  her  wretched  sur- 
roundings. The  misery  of  it  all  over- 
whelmed her.  She  sobbed,  and  the  big 
tears  descended  from  her  blind  eyes. 

"Don't  cry,  Louise!"  begged  the  almost 
equally  wretched  Pierre.  "There  may  yet 
be  escape  and  the  finding  of  your  sister. 
Oh!"  he  said  to  himself.  "If  I  had  but  the 
courage  to  lay  down  my  life  that  I  might 
make  her  happy!" 

The  ruffian  Jacques  Frochard  was  ex- 
hibiting a  sinister  interest  in  the  blind  girl. 


KNIFE  DUEL  AND  ESCAPE    125 

He  had  forbidden  Pierre  to  speak  to  her 
or  come  near  her,  and  now  as  he  entered, 
the  crippled  brother  shrank  away.  "Get 
up  and  go  to  work !"  said  Mother  Frochard 
to  the  girl  roughly,  yanking  her  to  her  feet. 

"I'll  find  a  way  to  make  her  work!" 
laughed  Jacques  with  fiendish  coarseness. 
"You'll  slave  for  me,  eh,  my  pretty?  Yes, 
for  you,  no  one  but  Jacques !" 

He  leered  at  her  as  he  appropriated  the 
coins  of  her  singing. 

Huddled  in  the  corner,  the  silent  cripple 
bit  his  finger  knuckles  until  they  bled  .  .  . 

Inflamed  with  liquor  and  lust,  Jacques 
soon  decided  to  carry  out  his  purpose. 

"Come  with  me,  my  little  beauty !" 

Mother  Frochard  chuckled  at  the  sight 
of  him  mastering  her.  Struggle  wildly  as 
the  poor  blind  creature  would  to  avoid  his 
grip,  he  was  dragging  her  slowly  to  the 
stair  while  her  screams  were  stifHed  by  one 
rough  hand  over  her  mouth. 

But  as  he  was  doing  this,  the  huddled 
figure  rose.  "I  have  been  a  coward  long 
enough,"  said  Pierre.  "Don't  touch  her!" 
laying  a  restraining  hand  on  Jacques'  arm. 

Astonished,    Jacques    turned.      "Who'll 


126    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

stop  me?"  He  flung  his  brother  prostrate 
half  way  across  the  room. 

The  cripple  had  risen  again.  A  dirk 
gleamed  in  his  extended  hand.  His  eyes 
blazed  like  coals.  Fury  distorted  his  fea- 
tures which  were  craned  forward  in  hide- 
ous ugliness  parallel  with  the  knife. 

"I  will!" 

"You  misbegotten  hunchback!"  roared 
Jacques,  letting  loose  of  the  girl  and  draw- 
ing his  own  knife.  "She  is  mine.  I  tell 
you  I  will  kill  anyone  who  interferes  with 
me!" 

La  Frochard  tried  to  throw  herself  be- 
tween the  brothers.  Louise  groped  away, 
and  as  by  instinct  found  refuge  behind 
Pierre.  Jacques  pushed  the  hag  aside,  say- 
ing savagely:  "Let  me  look  after  this!" 

Each  brother  stripped  off  his  coat,  hold- 
ing it  as  a  buckler  whilst  the  right  hand 
gripped  a  knife. 

"You  are  right,  Jacques,"  said  the  fren- 
zied cripple.  "We  Frochards  come  of  a 
race  that  kills !" 

The  adversaries  feinted  around  each 
other  in  circles,  in  the  Latin  mode  of  fight- 
ing that  was  their  heritage.  Coats  or  side- 


KNIFE  DUEL  AND  ESCAPE    127 

steps  parried  or  evaded  blows.  The  knives 
gleamed,  but  did  not  go  quickly  home. 

If  Jacques  had  the  superior  strength, 
Pierre  was  the  more  cat-like.  His  frail  body 
was  a  slight  target,  so  that  the  other's  great 
lunges  missed.  Then,  leaping  like  a  puma, 
he  was  behind  and  under  Jacques'  guard, 
and  stabbed  him  in  the  back. 

The  great  hulk  of  a  man  fell  back  into  La 
Frochard's  arms,  the  blood  oozing  from  a 
cut  that  was  not  mortal  though  fearsome. 
The  hag-mother  wailed  and  crooned  as  if 
he  were  in  death  agony. 

"Quick !"  cried  the  hunchback  to  Louise, 
"the  road  to  liberty  is  open."  Taking 
Louise  by  the  hand,  he  ran  with  her  up 
the  steps  out  of  the  cellar  .  .  . 

But  Henriette  did  not  meet — not  until 
one  fateful  hour — the  itinerant  grinder  and 
her  loved  sister  whom  he  protected.  They 
were  in  many  of  the  scenes  of  the  later 
Revolution.  Louise  ate  off  the  de  Vaudrey 
plate,  and  Pierre  perforce  sharpened  the 
knives  of  the  September  Massacre. 
Tramps  of  the  boiling,  temptestuous  City, 
spectators  but  not  participants  of  the  great 
events,  they  looked  ceaselessly  for  her. 


128    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Nor  did  the  wicked  Frochards  abide  in 
the  den  of  Louise's  imprisonment  and  suf- 
ferings. They  too  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  vast  maelstrom — to  reappear  at  one 
ludicrous  moment  of  tragic  times. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    NEW    TYRANNY 

Before  telling1  you  how  the  Chevalier  de 
Vaudrey  got  out  of  Caen  and  how  he  fared 
forth  to  his  love,  it  is  meet  that  the  reader 
should  understand  the  rapidly  changing 
conditions  that  converted  the  New  France 
into  a  veritable  Hell  on  earth. 

After  the  Fall  of  the  Bastille,  and  even 
after  the  mob's  sortie  on  Versailles  which 
enforced  the  royal  family's  return  to  Paris 
where  they  lived  in  the  Tuilleries,  it  was  the 
hope  of  the  moderate  patriots  that  constitu- 
tional monarchy  might  prevail. 

These  hopes  were  dashed,  first,  by  royal- 
ty's intrigues  and  double-dealing,  and,  sec- 
ondly, through  the  pressure  of  the  revolting 
emigres  and  the  threat  of  foreign  invasion 
that  welded  all  the  defenders  of  France, 
willy-nilly,  into  a  traitor-crushing  and  in- 
vader-defying Republic. 

Of  all  the  persoages  of  that  unhappy 
time,  the  locksmithing  King  Louis  XVI 
least  understood  what  was  going  on  about 
him. 


130    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

A  true  Bourbon  with  an  ancestry  of 
nearly  a  thousand  years'  possession  of  the 
French  throne,  he  never  learned  anything 
and  never  forgot  anything.  He  played  at 
being  a  limited  monarch  but  his  sympathies 
were  naturally  with  the  riffled  aristocrats — 
the  nobility  whose  privileges  had  been  taken 
away,  their  estates  commandeered,  their 
chateaux  fired  or  sacked,  and  themselves 
obliged  to  flee  for  their  lives  to  the  protec- 
tion of  the  foreigner. 

Not  comprehending  the  nature  of  the 
Storm  that  wiped  out  old  tyranny,  Louis 
dangerously  rode  the  Storm,  he  could  not 
guide  it.  His  lack  of  understanding  is 
sadly  shown  in  the  closing  scene  at  Ver- 
sailles when  they  brought  him  news  of  the 
people's  coming. 

"Mais,  c'est  une  revolte.  Why,  that  is  a 
revolt !"  exclaimed  the  bewildered  monarch. 

"No,  Sire,"  replied  the  Minister  gravely, 
"  'tis  not  a  revolt.  It  is  a  revolution!" 

Within  a  few  hours  the  yelling  maenads 
and  bold  satyrs  of  the  sansculottes  pos- 
sessed the  gorgeous  Salon  de  la  Paix,  whilst 
the  King  and  his  family  were  on  their  way 
to  Paris  .  .  . 

Then  followed  many  weary  months  of 


THE  NEW  TYRANNY          131 

royalist  intrigue,  plot  and  counter  plot,  sec- 
ret dickers  with  foreign  Powers,  attempts 
at  escape,  fresh  indignities  by  the  mob, 
until  at  last  Royalty  is  suspended  from  its 
function,  becomes  the  prisoner  instead  of 
the  ruler.  Turned  out  of  the  Tuilleries, 
Louis  and  Marie  Antoinette  are  no  longer 
King  and  Queen — henceforth  Citizen  and 
Citizeness  Capet.  At  the  end  of  dreadful 
imprisonments,  looms  for  the  hapless  pair 
the  dread  Scaffold  .  .  . 

A  real  Republic  teeters  for  a  short  period 
on  the  crest  of  the  Revolutionary  wave. 
Men  are  mad  with  the  joy  over  the  new 
thought  of  universal  brotherhood.  Little 
do  Danton  and  the  other  Utopians  realize 
that  the  Pageant  of  Brotherhood  is  but  the 
prelude  of  a  new  Despotism. 

For  a  dark  ring  of  foes — spurred  to  in- 
vasion by  the  King's  misfortunes — sur- 
rounds France  on  every  side.  Within,  the 
cry  re-echoes:  "The  traitors  to  the  pris- 
ons !"  and  all  the  aristocrats  as  yet  at  large 
are  hunted  down  and  put  in  durance. 

As  Minister  of  Justice,  Danton,  the  idol 
of  the  people,  acts  quickly  to  subdue  aris- 
tocracy, and  ceaselessly  organizes — organ- 
izes— organizes  the  raw  republican  levies 


132    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

into  troops  fit  to  resist  the  advancing  Prus- 
sians, Austrians  and  Savoyards. 

Lashed  to  uncontrollable  rage  by  the  pre- 
liminary successes  of  the  invading  Prus- 
sians, the  Paris  proletariat  break  into  the 
prisons  and  massacre  the  unfortunate  mem- 
bers of  the  nobility  there  immured.  Few 
are  spared.  Young  equally  with  the  old — 
girls  and  women  no  less  than  the  sterner 
sex — the  noble,  the  wise,  the  cultivated,  the 
beautiful,  are  murdered  in  cold  blood.  The 
September  Massacres  shock  moderates 
everywhere  with  the  feeling  that  France  is 
at  last  running  amuck — the  mad  dog  of  the 
Nations. 

Yes,  France  now  is  running  amuck — 
'ware  of  her  when  she  strikes!  Lafayette 
and  other  moderates — indeed,  several  of 
the  Generals  commanding  the  patriot 
armies  have  fled  over  the  border,  disgusted 
with  the  national  rabies,  utterly  unable  to 
quench  it. 

The  patriot  ranks  close  up.  The  wilder 
element  of  the  sansculottes  grasps  the  helm 
of  State.  In  the  desperate  need  of  a  dicta- 
torship to  cope  against  the  foreign  invasion, 
Danton  procures  from  the  Legislature  ab- 


THE  NEW  TYRANNY          133 

solute  power  for  a  little  inner  group,  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety. 

Working  on  the  passions  of  the  people, 
worming  himself  into  favor  by  denouncing 
moderate  suspects  and  advocating  the  ex- 
tremest  measures,  our  sly  acquaintance  of 
the  faubourg  lodgings — Maximilien  Robes- 
pierre— becomes  the  head  of  this  Commit- 
tee— thereby  the  Tyrant  of  France. 

The  foreign  foe  is  indeed  driven  back, 
but  at  what  a  cost!  The  rule  of  Robes- 
pierre's fanatical  minority  that  has  seized 
the  State,  inaugurates  the  dreadful  Reign 
of  Terror.  The  great  Revolutionary  leader 
Danton — Minister  of  Justice  in  the  earlier 
time — has  himself  caused  to  be  established 
the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  for  the  quick 
trial  of  the  public's  foes,  and  the  guillotine 
for  the  guilty.  Robespierre  uses  it  as  a 
ready  forged  weapon  for  destroying  all  who 
do  not  think  as  he  does. 

In  this  storm-wracked  world  Jacques- 
Forget-Not  is  now  a  great  judge  and  a  most 
fanatical  patriot.  The  avenger  of  the  de 
Vaudreys  heads  the  Revoluntionary  Tri- 
bunal. He  is  in  his  glory  now,  for  the  aris- 
tocrats that  the  mobs  overlooked  are  sent 
in  batches  to  the  guillotine — on  the  most 


1J4   ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

trifling  charges,  or  finally  without  accusa- 
tion at  all.  The  mere  fact  of  being  an  aris- 
tocrat is  a  capital  offence ! 

And  in  and  among  these  slaughters  is 
intermixed  the  destruction  of  Robes- 
pierre's personal  and  political  rivals — a 
;work  in  which  the  vengeful  Jacques-For- 
get-Not studies  and  obeys  every  whim  of 
his  master,  for  does  not  Jacques  also  have 
private  grudges  as  yet  unpaid? 

.  .  .  But  Danton  remains  a  popular 
hero.  For  his  work  in  driving  back  the  for- 
eign foe,  he  is  upraised  in  chair  of  state  by 
the  multitudes,  heading  a  huzzaing  proces- 
sion and  preceded  by  young  girls  strewing 
flowers. 

None  of  the  bloody  butchery  has  been 
Danton's.  He  has  been  too  busy  fighting 
Prussia,  Austria  and  Savoy.  Today,  as  he 
sits  in  the  chair  of  state  acknowledging  the 
acclamations,  his  heart  wells  in  gratitude  to 
Henriette  who  had  once  saved  his  life — no 
face  of  treasured  memory  so  dear  as  hers! 

Confessedly,  under  the  New  Tyranny, 
there  is  nothing  to  engage  the  great  heart 
and  soul.  Sick  of  the  murderous  scramble 
for  pelf  and  power,  he  withdraws  from 


(D.   US.  Griffith's  "Organs  of  the  Storm") 

LOVE,  MASTER  OF  HEARTS. 


THE  NEW  TYRANNY          135 

most  political  activity,  though  still  able  to 
exert  a  wide  influence. 

About  this  time  twenty-two  political 
rivals  of  Robespierre — the  Girondists — 
were  sent  by  one  decree  to  the  guillotine. 
Danton,  vainly  pleading  for  mercy,  saw 
that  the  Committee  of  Safety  machine  was 
being  made  an  instrument  of  slaughter. 
"France  must  be  purged  of  all  vice!"  was 
Robespierre's  sanctimonious  reply  to  his 
passionate  protest.  Not  long  after,  the 
rival  masters  of  France  faced  one  another 
in  the  hall  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal, 
whereof  Jacques-Forget-Not  was  Presi- 
dent. 

"Well  works  this  Tribunal  you  estab- 
lished, Danton!"  said  Robespierre,  in  glee 
at  the  increasing  number  of  executions. 

"It  was  established,"  replied  the  peck- 
marked  man  solemnly,  "to  punish  the 
enemies  of  the  people.  Now  through  you 
• — Robespierre — France  rivers  with  inno- 
cent blood!" 

.  .  .  God  help  our  hero  and  heroine  if 
they  should  encounter  its  dread  fury! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM 

Some  parts  of  France  continued  to  be 
held  by  the  royalists  after  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Republic. 

Insurrectionary  war  raged  in  the  prov- 
inces, particularly  the  stubborn  war  of  La 
Vendee,  and  certain  loyal  fortresses  like 
Caen  managed  to  resist  capture. 

It  was  thus  as  a  prisoner  of  the  royalist 
faction,  and  quite  out  of  touch  with  world- 
shaking  events,  that  our  young  hero  Chev- 
alier Maurice  de  Vaudrey  lived  through  the 
earlier  period  of  the  Revolution. 

A  love-message  from  him  through  Picard 
to  Henriette — an  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
escape;  a  glimpse  of  the  still  handsomely 
frizzed  and  powdered  head  gazing  through 
trefoil  Gothic  window  on  the  outer  sun- 
shine and  liberty: — such  is  all  that  we  may 
see  of  de  Vaudrey's  strangely  trussed  up 
life  during  this  time. 

He  was  still  enshrined  in  the  heart  of  the 
little  seamstress  in  the  Paris  faubourg,  still 
dear  to  his  aunt  the  Countess  who  with  her 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM  137 

husband  was  an  emigre  beyond  the  borders. 
Otherwise,  no  hermit  nor  solitary  was  more 
completely  effaced  from  the  world. 

The  first  light  of  hope  was  brought  to 
Caen  by  a  messenger,  from  the  Countess, 
who  had  managed  to  smuggle  through  a 
letter  or  two  and  a  small  box  of  gold. 

"I  dare  not  advise  you,"  his  kind  Aunt 
wrote.  "Escape  into  France  would  invite 
your  death  as  an  aristocrat.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  you  make  use  of  the  accompanying 
pardon  signed  by  your  uncle  the  Count,  the 
Governor  of  Caen  will  probably  enroll  you 
for  the  inhuman  and  useless  war  of  La 
Vendee.  Take  the  money,  my  dear 
Nephew,  and  use  it  as  you  deem  best — the 
messenger  will  secure  it  for  you  outside  the 
prison  until  you  need  it !" 

De  Vaudrey  pondered,  as  his  Aunt  ad- 
vised. But,  really,  there  was  but  the  one 
course  for  him!  To  win  through,  dis- 
guised, at  whatever  peril,  to  Henriette;  to 
find  her  and  Louise ;  to  save  them  from  that 
black  welter  of  the  Revolution,  and  guide 
them  out  of  the  country  to  the  loving  care 
of  the  Countess  and  the  repentant  Count: 
yes,  such  was  the  course  that  both  Love 
and  Duty  dictated.  He  would  begin  it  that 


138    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

night,  aided  by  his  faithful  friend  the  mes- 
senger. 

"Hand  part  of  the  gold,"  he  whispered 
the  Countess's  agent,  "to  some  rustic  carter 
on  whom  you  can  rely.  Bring  another  part 
here  and  give  it  to  a  keeper  whom  I  shall 
point  out  to  you!" 

The  impromptu  little  plot  worked  per- 
fectly. The  friendly  keeper,  having  gotten 
a  peep  at  the  ex-Police  Prefect's  letter  of 
pardon,  needed  but  the  clincher  argument 
of  the  gold  in  order  to  aid  de  Vaudrey's  es- 
cape. A  rope  over  the  wall,  and  even  a 
plank  across  the  moat,  were  mysteriously 
provided.  In  the  last  silent  watch  of  the 
night,  the  go-between  (who  had  been  wait- 
ing) conducted  the  escaped  prisoner  to  the 
carter's  cavern.  Already  the  East  was 
showing  the  ghostly  light  of  the  first  faint 
streaks  of  dawn. 

Having  breakfasted  in  the  cave  and  put 
his  few  belongings  into  a  pack,  de  Vaudrey 
with  the  two  others  stepped  out  of  the  dark 
hole  into  the  growing  light. 

The  carter  pointed  to  the  Chevalier's 
frizzled  locks  and  elegant  if  faded  dress. 
'They  would  take  you  up  at  the  first  village 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM  139 

crossing  on  that!"  he  remarked.  "Your 
get-up  gives  you  away." 

The  Chevalier  retired  to  a  new  toilette. 
Within,  were  the  primitive  resources  of 
rustic  wardrobe.  As  he  emerged  again  from 
the  cavern,  old  boon  companions  would  in- 
deed have  been  startled  by  the  guise  he 
now  wore. 

Beautiful  apparel,  cane,  wig,  lorgnette 
and  snuffbox  were  in  the  discard.  The  friz- 
zled locks  were  gone,  revealing  long 
straight  black  hair  which  was  crowned  by  a 
shabby  tricorne  hat.  The  Chevalier's  ele- 
gant form  was  covered  by  an  ill-fitting 
ragged  black  suit,  which  a  pair  of  dusty 
shoes  well  matched.  Across  one  shoulder 
he  carried  a  pack  stick,  to  which  a  thor- 
oughly disreputable-looking  small  black 
bundle  was  fastened. 

"You'll  do  now,"  said  the  rustic.  "Re- 
member you're  only  a  helper  on  a  carter's 
journey  to  Paris." 

Rustic  and  helper  took  their  leave  of  the 
go-between  by  plunging  through  a  wide 
but  shallow  stream.  When  they  had 
emerged  at  the  farther  bank,  they  felt  se- 
cure that  their  steps  could  not  be  traced. 
Waving  good-byes  to  the  other,  the  rustic 


140    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

and  his  man  hastened  to  a  stable  where  they 
loaded  a  provision  wagon  and  attached  a 
country  Dobbin  to  the  thills.  Presently  de 
Vaudrey,  in  his  new  character  of  the  car- 
ter's assistant,  was  on  the  first  stage  of 
the  long  journey  to  the  storm-wracked 
metropolis. 

The  carter's  load  was  of  so  little  value, 
the  whole  outfit  so  poverty-stricken,  that 
neither  country  Royalist  nor  provincial 
Revolutionary  saw  fit  to  bother  them. 

Gradually  the  carter  sold  his  wares  in  the 
smaller  villages  en  route.  They  wisely 
avoided  the  larger  towns.  The  cart  was 
nearly  empty  now.  Saleables  had  all  been 
disposed  of  except  a  few  apples. 

"How  are  you  and  I  going  to  get  into 
Paris?"  said  the  distinguished  young  aris- 
tocrat, whose  respect  for  the  Reuben  had 
increased  daily. 

"Trust  me!"  said  the  other.  His  broad, 
moon-faced  physiognomy  masked  the 
cunning  of  the  fox.  "I  have  this  apple 
here—" 

The  carter  eyed  his  assistant  intently  and 
winked  solemnly  as  if  to  say:  "That  will  do 
the  trick!" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM  141 

As  they  leave  the  open  country  behind 
and  jog-  through  the  better  settled  regions 
immediately  north  of  Paris,  let  us  take  our 
stand  beside  the  "barrier"  or  outer  gate 
which  they  are  slowly  approaching. 

Judge  Forget-Not  and  his  fellows  are  in- 
specting the  barriers.  The  voice  of  the 
Chief  is  heard  speaking. 

"Watch  strictly  that  no  aristocrats  es- 
cape. Our  new  law  also  condemns  to  death 
all  who  harbor  an  aristocrat." 

The  Inquisitor's  face  assumes  a  yet 
harsher  expression  as  he  addresses  the 
guards:  "Beware  lest  you  yourselves  be 
suspect! — Remember  the  sharp  female 
'Guillotine' !" 

Forget-Not  draws  a  significant  hand 
across  the  throat.  A  shudder  passes 
through  the  more  timid  folk. 

The  coarse-faced  guards  applaud  and 
promise  to  use  the  utmost  precautions.  The 
judges  move  on,  inspecting  another  part  of 
the  barrier. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ADVENTURES   OF  A  PILGRIM    (continued) 

The  farmer's  cart  nears  the  gate.  The 
moon-faced  Reuben  is  as  impassive  as  ever. 
Though  the  tall  assistant  manages  to  keep 
his  expression  fairly  immobile  too,  'tis  evi- 
dent to  us  who  know  him  that  he  labors 
under  suppressed  excitement.  For  the  prize 
of  his  Great  Quest  is  Henriette ;  the  penalty 
of  discovery  and  capture,  Death ! 

The  gallant  young  man  does  not  hesitate, 
however.  He  has  never  shrunk  from  Dan- 
ger's bright  face,  least  of  all  would  be 
shrink  now  when  the  passing  of  a  brief  or- 
deal may  well  mean  reunion  with  his  be- 
loved and  her  rescue  from  the  welter  of 
Paris.  The  Pilgrim's  soul  hungers  and 
thrists  for  her.  After  the  great  Sahara  of 
imprisoned  loneliness,  how  near  the  Oasis 
of  love  and  rapture!  How  beautiful  the 
prospect,  if  not  indeed  Mirage ! 

The  rustic's  helper  dismounts  with  the 
farmer  at  the  gate,  and  follows  him  into  the 
office  of  the  registrar.  The  farmer  presents 
a  pass. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM  143 

"This  is  for  one  only,"  says  the  registrar 
at  the  gate,  roughly.  "The  other  cannot  go 
through,"  he  says,  pointing  to  de  Vaudrey, 
who  tries  to  look  as  stupid  and  uncompre- 
hending as  possible. 

The  farmer  hands  a  big  red  apple  to  the 
functionary.  But  the  latter  makes  a  ges- 
ture of  refusal. 

"Bite  into  it!"  says  the  rustic  ingratiat- 
ingly. 

The  official  bites  at  the  top  which  comes 
off — a  smooth  and  even  slice.  The  centre 
of  the  apple  is  hollow.  Within  it  are  several 
gold  coins. 

Quickly  the  gatekeeper  covers  the  golden 
apple  with  his  hairy  paw.  "Your  papers 
are  all  right,"  he  says  gruffly,  rapidly  con- 
verting the  figure  1  into  a  2,  and  viseing  the 
pass  for  two.  He  motions  for  both  the  man 
and  the  youth  to  go  through. 

The  farmer  and  his  follower  drive  in  and 
mix  with  the  crowd  on  the  inside  of  the  bar- 
rier. At  this  stage  the  farmer  disappears 
from  our  history.  But  the  face  of  the  youth 
is  noted  by  an  eagle  eye  and  recognized  by 
a  brain  that  does  not  forget ! 

The  prowling  Judge  sees  the  Chevalier, 
though  the  Chevalier  does  not  see  him. 


144    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"Follow  that  man!"  he  says  quietly  to 
his  deputies.  "We  shall  catch  him  red- 
handed  in  some  plot !" 

Our  little  heroine  had  lived  quietly  for 
many  months  in  the  faubourg-  lodgings  to 
which,  perforce,  she  had  to  return  after  her 
vain  visit  to  the  Frochard  cellar  and  her 
rough  handling  by  the  Carmognole  rioters. 
The  little  sparrow  of  a  seamstress  was  quite 
undisturbed  by  the  great  events  of  the 
French  Revolution,  except  as  they  had  put 
everything  at  sixes  and  sevens  and  whirled 
away  her  own  intimates  in  the  mad  whirli- 
gig- 

The  pock-marked  man  (whom  she  had 
sheltered  overnight  in  this  very  place)  was 
the  Savior  of  the  Country;  the  prying 
lodger  Robespierre  was  the  Chief  of  State. 
Of  course  she  never  saw  them  now,  her 
small  self  would  hardly  dare  address  them ! 
Sister  Genevieve  and  the  Doctor,  who  had 
told  her  about  the  Frochards'  den,  were  no 
longer  within  her  ken. 

The  weary  months  had  dragged  along. 
Notwithstanding  the  cheering  message 
conveyed  by  Picard,  her  knight  the  Cheval- 
ier— so  far  as  she  knew — was  still  a  prison- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM  145 

er  of  Caen.  And  the  weary  months  had 
dragged  their  ball  and  chain  of  silence  and 
despair  still  more  wearingly  in  the  failure 
of  her  many  renewed  attempts  to  find 
Louise.  The  blind  sister  was  again  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  .devouring  city — the  Fro- 
chards  were  fled. 

Whither  was  Henriette  to  look — whither 
to  turn  ? 

A  ray  of  light  from  the  window  glinted 
on  the  holy  Book  of  books  that  the  girl 
treasured.  She  opened  it.  A  line  read  at 
random  comforted  her.  Clasping  the  vol- 
ume in  her  hands,  she  knelt  in  prayer,  ad- 
dressing God  softly : 

"Thou  who  hast  said:  'I  am  the  Light!' 
oh,  show  me  the  way !" 

At  the  sound  of  a  knock  at  the  door,  the 
girl  rose  from  her  supplications.  Entered 
sad  and  dusty  pilgrim,  carrying  his  few  be- 
longings in  bag  suspended  from  shoulder 
stick.  Now  they  dropped  sharply  to  the 
floor,  and  the  disguised  Chevalier  gazed 
long  and  earnestly  upon  his  love. 

Her  eyes  in  turn  were  riveted  on  his  sad, 
lean  apparition,  how  terribly  changed  from 
the  old  debonair  days!  Kind  sympathy 
spoke  in  her  look  and  mien  till  the  radiance 


146    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

of  love,  beginning1  in  little  ghosts  of  wel- 
coming smiles  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth, 
broke  into  clear  effulgence. 

The  Chevalier  tottered  forward.  He  col- 
lapsed into  the  nearest  chair. 

She  put  her  arms  around  him  and  hov- 
ered there,  comforting  him  with  affection- 
ate little  hand  pats  and  soft  kisses. 

Jacques-Forget-Now,  the  avenger  of  the 
de  Vaudreys,  had  not  been  far  behind  dur- 
ing the  pilgrim's  tramp  across  the  city.  He 
had  in  fact  sneaked  back  of  him,  seen  the 
wanderer  enter  Henriette's  door.  Stand- 
ing at  the  head  of  the  stair,  he  could  almost 
overhear  stray  phrases  of  their  talk,  knew 
that  they  were  quite  within  his  power. 

The  shaggy-haired  one  fairly  gloated  in 
his  triumph.  "Number  One!"  he  hissed, 
raising  a  forefinger  in  token  that  de  Vau- 
drey — the  first  of  his  Trinity  of  Hate — was 
in  the  net.  "Two  and  Three  shall  come 
next!"  he  whispered  savagely,  knuckling 
down  two  other  fingers  to  mark  his  ven- 
geance on  the  Count  and  Countess. 

The  shaggy-haired  Forget-Not  hurried 
down  the  stairs,  his  gaunt  features  baleful 
with  unholy  glee.  Pointing  significantly 
overhead,  he  ordered  a  detail  of  his  guards : 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  PILGRIM  147 

"Arrest  de  Vaudrey  and  all  in  that 
room!"  The  men  at  once  proceeded  to 
carry  out  the  order. 

The  guard  captain  would  have  been 
equally  at  home  in  a  pirate  crew  or  at  a  land 
massacre.  Enormous  black  brows  and 
heavy  moustache  accentuated  his  ferocity, 
the  particolored  Revolutionary  garb  and  in 
particular  the  red-and-white  striped  panta- 
loons gave  him  a  bizarre  appearance  like  a 
pirate  chief. 

The  detail  were  armed  with  muskets  and 
bayonets.  They  clattered  up  the  stairs  and 
burst  into  Henriette's  room. 

The  lovers  seemed  dazed  rather  than  af- 
frighted. They  clasped  each  other  again. 
With  a  little  warning  gesture  Henriette 
bade  Maurice  say  nothing  when  the  captain 
addressed  him  as  de  Vaudrey. 

The  villain  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his  vic- 
tim while  two  of  the  soldiers  seized  and 
pinioned  his  arms.  "You  are  under  arrest 
as  a  returned  emigre !"  the  head  pirate  said. 

Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  Henriette 
who  made  futile  little  efforts  like  a  tiny 
mother  wren. 

"You  are  also  under  arrest,  Citizeness," 


148    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

said  the  captain  harshly,  "for  the  crime  01 
sheltering  a  returned  aristocrat." 

"She  cannot  be  blamed,"  interrupted  de 
Vaudrey.  "I  entered  this  place,  uninvited." 

"Silence!"  roared  the  Captain.  "Your 
plea,  if  any,  must  be  made  to  the  Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BEFORE  THE  DREAD  TRIBUNAL 

That  awful  Tribunal  sat  daily.  During 
the  height  of  the  Tertor,  no  time  was  al- 
lowed to  prisoners  for  the  preparation  of 
their  cases — no  interval  elapsed  between 
the  prisoners'  arrest  and  their  arraignment. 
Dispatch—  dispatch—  DISPATCH  was  the 
essence  of  the  bloody  business,  the  purpose 
being  to  strike  terror  upon  all  that  opposed 
the  little  fanatical  minority  then  in  power. 

Therefore  the  guard  brought  Henriette 
and  Maurice  directly  from  their  arrest  to 
their  trial,  and  they  gazed  upon  a  sight  for 
Gods  and  men — a  travesty  on  the  sacred 
name  of  justice.  Such  scenes  would  seem 
unbelievable  to  us  but  for  the  recent  events 
of  the  Russian  Revolution,  which  prove 
that  in  our  age  also  a  proletarian  dictator- 
ship can  be  senselessly  wicked  and  cruel. 

The  trials — beside  their  Terror  function 
of  upholding  a  minority  government — were 
great  public  shows  for  the  howling  rabble 
and  leering  sansculottes,  the  hoodlums  of 
Paris  whom  even  the  masters  dared  not  of- 


150    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

fend.  The  riff-raff  acted  exactly  as  at  any 
of  their  own  celebrations  and  feastings. 

Along  the  side  benches  and  up  on  the 
"Mountain,"  flirtation  and  sweethearting 
went  on,  of  a  rough-and-ready  order.  Some 
spectators  coolly  munched  their  dinners. 
Ohters,  having  brought  along  their  bottles, 
indulged  in  drinking  bouts.  Everyone's 
ideas  of  a  good  time  cannot  be  the  same. 
There  was  our  eccentric  acquaintance  the 
Jolly  Baker,  for  instance.  The  height  of 
bliss  for  him,  at  one  of  these  capital  trials, 
wa.s  to  lean  far,  far  back  with  open  mouth 
whilst  a  tilted  bottle,  held  by  a  ministering 
Hebe,  spilled  ecstatic  drops  of  damp  and 
ruby  "happiness"  upon  his  "open-face" 
physiognomy. 

Another  misfit  of  the  grotesque  crowds 
was  Picard,  foolishly  trying  to  discover 
what  'twas  all  about,  gazing  soulful-eyed 
into  hoodlum  "mugs"  that  gave  him  the 
merry  "ha!  ha!"  or  sickened  him  with  the 
likeness  of  the  First  Murderer.  But 
"crime,"  in  one  instance  at  least,  was  fol- 
lowed by  "punishment,"  for  as  the  murder- 
ous citizen  suddenly  thrust  out  his  roaring 
raucous  mouth,  Picard  inadvertently  leaned 
,back. 


152    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

A  frowsy  public  prosecutor — red,  white 
and  blue  cockade  affixed  to  his  tousled  hat 
plume — calls  the  names  of  the  accused  and 
presents  the  charge.  From  the  background, 
the  stripe-panted  soldiery  are  bringing 
the  victims  up. 

"They  are  arraigning  them  in  batches," 
says  Pierre.  "The  judges  make  quick 
work!"  Louise  shudders,  lays  hold  of  his 
arm. 

There  is  something  horrible  in  the  sound 
of  the  advancing  footsteps;  the  harsh  ac- 
cusations and  weak  replies,  oft  drowned  by 
the  sanculottes'  roar;  the  sentences  of 
doom,  and  the  final  scuffling  of  feet  as  the 
"soldiers  seize  their  prey  and  bear  it  off. 

Innocence  and  guilt  often  go  up  together. 

Unfortunate  women  of  the  street  are  ar- 
raigned next  high-bred  aristocrats,  or 
moderates  whose  only  crime  has  been  to 
denounce  such  horrors.  A  gallant  gentle- 
man pleads  vainly  to  the  judges  who  are 
also  the  jury:  "We  have  had  no  trial!" 
The  mob  howls  "Guillotine!"  and  "Guillo- 
tine!" is  Jacques-Forget-Not's  brief  sen- 
tence ! 

A  young  Corsican  lieutenant  of  artillery 
looks  on  meditatively.  His  silent  thought 


THE  DREAD  TRIBUNAL        153 

is  sensed  by  a  bystander  who  remarks :  "I 
suppose,  Napoleon,  you  think  you  could 
manage  things  better!"  The  man  grins. 
But  Napoleon  Bonaparte — he  who  snuffed 
out  Revolution  later  by  whiff  of  grapeshot 
— nods  gravely  yes. 

As  the  prisoners  from  the  faubourg  are 
brought  in,  Henriette  sees  the  loved  and 
long  lost  face  of  her  dreams  among  the 
front  row  of  the  sansculottes. 

Stupefied,  unbelieving,  she  looks  again 
and  again.  Yes,  it  is  she — none  other !  Her 
own  peril  and  that  of  Maurice  are  un- 
thought  of.  Protective  love  of  the  blind 
one  tides  back  in  resistless  strength. 

She  is  trying  now  to  escape  from  the 
guards,  run  to  her  sister — even  to  panto- 
mime her  love,  gesticulate  it  with  funny 
little  motions  and  confidential  fingers  on 
lips — forgetting  that  the  other  cannot  see ! 
And  then  her  wild,  excited  cry  rings 
through  the  great  hall : 

"LOUISE!    LOUISE!" 

Louise  jumps  to  her  feet,  groping  wildly 
towards  the  cry.  Her  blind  features  are 
strained  in  agonized  expectancy.  Pierre 
has  located  the  frenzied  Henriette.  He 


154    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

guides  the  groping  blind  girl  from  the 
benches  to  her  sister. 

In  this  council  chamber  of  hates  and 
cruelty,  rulers  and  attendants  alike  are 
steeled  against  shrieks  of  suffering  or  the 
outbursts  of  the  accused.  A  fence  of  locked 
bayonets  stops  each  advancing  sister.  Pay- 
ing rather  less  heed  to  the  incident  than  if 
it  were  a  request  for  a  drink  of  water,  the 
soldiery  push  back  Pierre  and  Louise  to  the 
seats  and  make  ready  to  obey  the  prosecu- 
tor's call. 

"Citizen  de  Vaudrey  and  Henriette  Gir- 
ardtothebar!" 

The  Chevalier  faces  the  dread  quintet. 
The  prosecutor  reads  the  charge,  demands 
the  death  penalty  on  the  returned  aristo- 
crat. Poor  Henriette  is  divided  between 
her  frenzied  wish  to  clasp  her  sister  and 
her  horror  about  Maurice. 

The  young  man  defends  himself. 

"An  emigre,  yes!"  he  acknowledges,  "but 
not  an  enemy  of  the  people." 

Many  a  spectator  of  the  scenes — even  the 
wicked  judges — could  bear  witness  (did  not 
prejudice  blind!)  to  his  kindness  for  the  af- 
flicted and  fallen.  Is  there  an  undercurrent 


THE  DREAD  TRIBUNAL       155 

of  sympathy  for  him  even  amongst  hard 
sansculottes  ? 

But  this  is  Jacques-Forget-Not' s  great 
moment. 

Vengeance's  hour  has  struck. 

The  wickedness  of  the  old  de  Vaudreys 
is  to  be  expiated  at  last ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

VENGEANCE  COME  TO  JUDGMENT 

"I  MYSELF  accuse  you,  Citizen  de  Vau- 
drey !"  says  the  Judge,  rising  and  pointing 
to  the  culprit. 

"I  accuse  your  family  and  all  aristocrats 
of  oppression  and  murder  through  count- 
less generations !" 

A  yell  of  approval — the  savage  howl  of 
the  Mob  Beast — resounds  from  the  rabble 
whose  passion  is  played  upon.  It  is  fol- 
lowed by  the  general  roar : 

"Guillotine!  Guillotine!  GUILLOTINE!" 

With  a  smile  Forget-Not  records  the 
death  sentence  given  by  his  compliant  fel- 
low judges,  in  his  book.  Chevalier  de  Vau- 
drey  is  hustled  back  to  the  rear  of  the  hall. 

Poor  trembling  Henriette  is  next.  The 
horrors  of  Maurice's  condemnation  and  the 
thought  of  her  little  lost  sister  nearby,  rack 
her  with  a  stinging  pain  in  which  is  com- 
mingled little  thought  of  self. 

"You  sheltered  this  aristocrat?"  ques- 
tions the  Judge. 

"Of  course— I— love  him!" 


VENGEANCE  AND  JUDGMENT  157 

"The  penalty  for  sheltering  an  emigre  is 
death!"  replies  Forget-Not  shrilly,  again 
playing  to  the  Jacobins. 

But  Henriette  is  thinking  of  the  suffering 
Louise.  She  strives  to  direct  the  Judge's 
attention  to  the  blind  girl. 

"She  might  hear!"  says  Henriette  softly. 
"Please— not  so  loud!" 

The  Judge  turns  the  pages  of  his  book 
in  studied  indifference. 

"Please — my  sister — we  have  just  met 
after  a  long  time — she — she  is  blind !"  The 
little  voice  breaks  off  in  sobs. 

The  idea  strikes  her  that,  if  they  can 
only  see  the  helpless  creature,  they  will 
have  pity.  She  calls: 

"Louise,  stand  up — they  want  to  see 
you!" 

The  cripple  Pierre  aids  Louise  to  her  feet. 
She  stands  there  alone,  a  picture  of  abject 
misery. 

"You  see!"  cries  Henriette.  "Blind— no 
one  to  care  for  her!" 

The  dandified  dictator  of  France  fixes 
fishy  eyes  on  the  little  person  in  the  dock. 
One  affected  hand  has  raised  a  double  lorg- 


158    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

nette  through  which  he  peers  at  her.  He 
muses,  strokes  a  long  nostril  with  his  fore- 
finger, recollects  something  which  causes 
him  to  curl  his  lip : 

Henriette's  door  slam  on  the  obscure 
Maximilien  Robespierre  finds  its  re-echo 
to  day  at  the  gates  of  Death.  Ah,  yes,  he 
has  placed  the  girl  of  the  Faubourg  lodging 
now! 

"You  were  an  inmate  of  the  prison  for 
fallen  women?"  he  asks  coldly. 

The  clear,  unashamed  blue  eyes  would 
have  told  innocence  if  the  words  had  not. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  but  I  was  not  guilty." 

Robespierre's  delicate  hand  passes  in  the 
faintest  movement  across  his  throat  and 
toys  with  the  neck  ruffle  underneath  it. 

His  lips  frame  a  dreadful  word  though  he 
does  not  speak  it.  A  nod  to  Jacques-For- 
get-Not completes  the  by-play. 

The  servant  imitates  the  master's  ges- 
ture. This  time,  the  drawing  of  the  hand 
across  the  throat  is  more  decisive. 

Jacques  speaks  the  word  that  his  master 
did  not  vocalize.  The  other  judges  confirm 
it. 

"GUILLOTINE!" 

Henriette  is  borne  shrieking  out  to  the 


VENGEANCE  AND  JUDGMENT  159 

death  chamber — "One  hour  with  her — only 
one  hour — then  I  will  go  with  him!" 

But  she  and  the  Vaudrey  are  already 
being  taken  out  together  by  the  attendants. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  VOICE  OF  DANTON 

We  have  explained  that  Danton  took  lit- 
tle part  in  the  Government  after  the  repel- 
ling of  the  foreign  foe  and  the  commence- 
ment of  the  Terror.  He  had  no  sympathy 
with  the  excesses  of  his  former  colleagues, 
but  on  the  other  hand  was  subject  to 
strange  lassitudes  or  inhibitions  that  oft 
paralyzed  his  spirit  except  at  the  supreme 
hour. 

Saving   France   had  been   his   real  job. 

Among  these  petty  and  mean  minds  seek- 
ing power  or  pelf  or  the  repayment  of  some 
ancient  grudge,  Danton  had  nothing  to  do ! 
He  loved  his  frontier  fighters — men  who, 
the  same  as  himself,  dared  all  for  France. 

They  were  somewhat  like  our  cowboys 
of  the  Western  plains.  Born  to  the  saddle ; 
recruited  for  the  northern  cavalry;  su- 
premely successful  in  whirlwind  charges 
and  harassing  flank  attacks  that  drove  back 
Brunswick's  legions,  they  were  now  quar- 
tered on  well-deserved  furlough  within  the 
city. 


THE  VOICE  OF  DANTON       161 

The  old  lion  of  Danton's  nature  woke 
again,  his  indomitable  spirit  reasserted 
itself  whenever  he  went  to  their  yard  and 
roused  them  by  his  patriotic  eloquence. 

Alas !  within  the  tribunal  and  on  the  ex- 
ecution place  at  the  other  side  of  the  city, 
was  that  going  on  which  shamed  patriotism 
and  mocked  liberty. 

"La  Guillotine" — that  fiendish  beheading 
instrument  that  a  deputy  named  Doctor 
Guillotin  had  devised — was  become  Robes- 
pierre's private  engine  to  tyrannize  France. 

It  stood  in  a  great  suburban  place,  on  a 
scaffolding  led  up  to  by  a  flight  of  steps: 
a  tall  massive  upright  with  high  cross  piece 
— uglier  than  the  gallows.  A  brightly 
gleaming,  triangular  knife,  about  the  size 
of  a  ploughshare,  worked  up  and  down  in 
the  channels. 

The  knife  was  first  raised  to  the  top  of  the 
upright,  and  held  there  by  a  lever.  The 
master  of  the  ceremonial  raised  right  hand 
in  token  to  the  executioners  to  be  ready. 

As  he  dropped  his  hand  in  a  down-sweep- 
ing gesture,  one  of  these  villains  pulled  the 
rope  which  released  the  lever.  Down  fell 
the  heavy  knife  across  the  neck  opening  of 
a  body  board  to  which  the  victim  was  strap- 


162    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

ped.  Below  the  contraption  was  a  huge 
basket. 

A  cordon  of  soldiery  guarded  the  place, 
keeping  back  the  crowds.  The  brawny  ex- 
ecutioners— naked  to  the  waist,  like  butch- 
ers in  a  stockyard — daily  performed  their 
office. 

On  this  day  of  Henriette  and  Maurice's 
sentence,  they  were  giving  it  a  preliminary 
trial.  "The  trigger's  been  slipping — not 
working  well,"  the  head  fellow  explained 
to  the  master  of  ceremonies.  Back  and  forth 
the  terrible  guillotine  knife  hissed  and 
whistled  until  they  pronounced  its  action 
perfect  .  .  . 

Danton  and  three  of  his  friends  had  an 
errand  at  the  Government  that  day  that 
took  them  past  the  death  chamber.  A  little 
frightened  face  amongst  the  condemned 
drew  his  notice. 

"Killing  aristocrats,  yes !"  he  was  think- 
ing. "But  these  poor  huddled  folk  are  not 
the  public  foe.  Would  I  might  summon  the 
legions  to  put  an  end  to  slaughter — but  that 
Robespierre  has  inflamed  all  France  with 
the  lust  of  blood!" 

He  was  startled  from  the  reflection  by 
the  woe-begone,  distrait  little  thing  who 


THE  VOICE  OF  DANTON       163 

semed  hypnotized  by  terror.    The  tall  man 
bent  down  and  peered  at  the  girl. 

Like  the  other  condemned,  her  hands  had 
just  been  pinioned  behind  her.  She  stood 
forlorn  and  helpless. 

Horror  froze  him  . . .  The  Child  who  had 
saved  his  life  from  the  spadassins — the  dear 
little  face  the  memory  of  which  he  had  al- 
ways treasured !  He  asked  her  a  mute  ques- 
tion, she  mutely  nodded. 

So  black-hearted  murder  was  to  snuff  her 
out  too — yes,  and  that  young  man  nearby, 
Maurice  de  Vaudrey  whom  he  knew. 

Not  if  Danton  could  protect  and  save ! 

Stern  was  his  voice  as  he  said  to  the 
jailer : 

"There  is  some  mistake.  Keep  her — and 
her  friend — until  I  return !"  He  was  on  his 
heel  and  striding  to  the  courtroom. 

A  follower  sensed  his  purpose.    He  laid 
hand  on  Danton's  shoulder,  saying:  "No, 
Danton — you  endanger  your  own  life!" 
/'What  if  I  do?  She  must  be  saved." 

As  we  see  him  pass  into  the  Tribunal, 
let  us  stop  for  a  moment  and  watch  the  pro- 
ceedure  in  the  death  chamber.  Outside, 
the  tumbrils  of  death  clatter  up  to  receive 
their  load.  A  functionary  calls  the  names 


164    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

of  the  condemned  whilst  a  court  officer 
identifies  them..  Each  in  turn  is  bundled 
off  to  the  carts.  The  men  hesitate  over 
Henriette  and  Maurice. 

"The  ex-Minister  of  Justice,"  said  one, 
"asked  that  this  case  be  delayed." 

"Her  name  is  here,"  said  the  master  func- 
tionary, a  creature  of  the  Dictator.  "She 
goes—" 

"We  might  as  well  take  the  other  too," 
said  the  court  officer,  pointing  to  de  Vaud- 
rey  .  .  . 

Superbly  the  Lion  of  the  Revolution 
faced  the  judges  and  the  mob,  and  de- 
manded a  hearing.  Robespierre  uplifted 
eyebrows  and  half-smiled,  vulpinely.  His 
rapid  exchange  of  looks  with  the  Court 
seemed  to  say :  "Well,  we  have  got  to  listen 
to  this  crazy  man,  but  be  on  guard !" 

The  president,  Jacques-Forget-Not,  took 
the  cue  and  acceded  to  Danton's  request. 

"A  great  injustice  has  been  done,"  cried 
Danton,  "to  the  innocent  and  helpless.  I  ask 
the  lives  of  Henriette  Girard  and  Citizen 
de  Vaudrey!" 

The  judges  did  not  need  to  answer. 


THE  VOICE  OF  DANTON      165 

A  savage  cry  of  "No !  No !"  swelled  from 
the  infuriated  "Mountain." 

The  sansculottes  half  rose  from  their 
benches,  shaking  minatory  fists,  yelling, 
gesticulating.  Faces  were  contorted  in 
fury.  The  mob — the  same  that  had  once 
acclaimed  Danton  in  chair  of  state — was  not 
to  be  balked  of  blood. 

The  orator  continued:  "These  sufferers 
are  friends  of  you  who  demand  their  death. 
The  girl  once  saved  me — the  organizer  of 
your  victory — from  spadassins.  The  boy 
was  ever  known  as  the  people's  benefactor 
• — I  have  seen  him  buy  loaves  to  keep  you 
from  starving!  Now  through  trumped-up 
charges  they  are  to  be  hurried  away  to 
death—" 

"You  question  the  justice  of  the  people's 
Tribunal?"  inturrupted  Judge  Forget-Not 
shrilly,  with  obvious  play  at  the  mob. 

"Hell's  bells !"  replied  the  indignant  Thun- 
derer. "I  established  this  Tribunal.  Did 
not  I  as  Minister  of  Justice  set  it  in  being, 
and  shall  I  not  speak  when  crimes  are  done 
in  its  name !" 

...  In  the  death  chamber  Henriette  and 
Maurice  were  trying  to  kiss  each  other 
goodby.  The  guards  had  separated  them. 


166    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Vaudrey  was  going  in  one  death  cart,  Hen- 
riette  in  another  .  .  . 

He  had  silenced  the  querulous  Forget- 
Not,  was  waking  the  echoes  with  the  same 
thunders  that  had  nerved  France  to  resist 
the  foe.  "I  ask  for  their  lives  not  only,  but 
for  MERCY  and  JUSTICE  to  wipe  out  the 
tyranny  and  cruelty  that  are  befouling  all 
of  us.  I  ask  for  a  regenerated  nation,  pur- 
ged of  these  vile  offences." 

Robespierre  was  sinisterly  serious  now. 

The  group  of  judges  sat  amazed. 

"Give  Danton  a  hearing!"  was  the  mur- 
mur among  the  sansculottes,  half  awed  by 
his  old  witchery. 

The  impassioned  orator  swung  upon 
them,  his  old  supporters. 

"My  heart — my  brain — my  soul — my 
very  life !  Do  they  mean  anything  to  you — 
to  France?" 

"YES!  YES!"  shouted  the  answering 
mob,  caught  by  the  personal  appeal. 

Alarmed  at  the  swiftly  changing  tide, 
the  Chief  Judge  sought  the  Dictator's  eye. 
The  orator's  eyes  were  far  away,  his  frame 
was  convulsed  by  emotion  as  he  cried :  "My 
very  life — everything — I  owe  to  one  of 
these  victims!"  The  mob  identified  its 


1 3 

s,x 

a 

5  £ 

~  < 

t 


THE  VOICE  OF  DANTON       167 

cause  with  Danton's,  submerged  their  per- 
sonalities with  his  own! 

Robespierre  answered  Forget-Not's  look. 
He  indicated  the  speaker  by  a  slight  motion 
of  the  head,  then  drew  his  right  hand  across 
the  throat,  played  with  the  lace  ruffles — 
and  smiled!  Forget-Not  understood.  Not 
then — but  later,  only  a  little  later — would 
come  the  time  to  snuff  out  this  disturber ! 

Danton  turned  from  the  mob,  swinging 
the  peroration  to  the  judges  in  the  one  im- 
passioned cry  of  "JUSTICE!"  Lion-like  he 
glanced  from  those  mean,  denying  souls 
to  the  rabble,  and  held  out  his  hands. 

Like  an  avalanche,  the  "Mountain"  swept 
down  from  benches  to  hall  and  on,  on  to- 
ward the  judges.  Murder  was  in  their  eyes. 
A  word  from  the  Thunderer  would  have 
sealed  Forget-Not's  fate. 

"His  wish !  Give  Danton  his  wish !"  they 
roared. 

Like  a  monkey  the  man  Forget-Not 
leaped  and  cowered  behind  his  bar,  implor- 
ing Robespierre  for  a  sign.  The  Dictator 
nodded  to  yield.  But  again  was  there  not 
the  very  slightest  motion  of  hand  past  neck, 
the  eyes  side-glancing  at  the  Thunderer? 

Danton  stilled  the  tempest  as  Chief  Judge 


168    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Forget-Not  wrote     the  reprieve  and  the 
other  affrighted  Judges  confirmed  it. 

.  .  .  Outside,  the  tumbrils  were  already 
on  their  way  to  the  guillotine.  Henriette 
and  de  Vaudrey  were  approaching  the 
gates  of  death.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

REPRIEVE  OR  AGONY 

The  man  Forget-not,  directly  the  paper 
was  signed,  rushed  past  the  speaker  and 
out  of  the  hall  into  the  lobbies.  He  was 
followed  presently  by  the  Court's  messen- 
ger. There  was  here  some  trickery  or 
other  that  Danton  sensed. 

He  could  not  stop  the  Chief  Judge  leav- 
ing, but  he  pounced  on  the  messenger  and 
yanked  the  reprieve  out  of  his  hand.  "1 
will  deliver  it!"  said  Danton.  The  people 
applauded  the  act.  Everyone  knew  that 
he  dared  greatly. 

Quick  as  he  had  been,  Jacques-Forget- 
Not  had  already  given  his  orders. 

"Stop  Danton  if  you  can!"  had  been 
Jacques'  word  to  the  outer  guard.  To  his 
inspectors  of  defences,  he  had  said:  "The 
barriers  to  the  guillotine — close  them!" 
He  ran  forth  to  see  that  the  orders  were 
obeyed.  None  of  Robespierre's  party 
wanted  to  see  Danton  achieve  his  errand 
of  mercy — least  of  all,  the  vengeful  Jac- 
ques-Forget-Not! .  .  . 


170    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

The  pock-marked  Thunderer  wasn't 
stopped  beyond  the  door.  His  giant 
strength  threw  off  the  minions  who  would 
have  blocked  him.  He  hastened  to  the 
yard  where  his  beloved  troopers  were 
quartered. 

Henriette  and  Maurice's  route  lay  past 
an  obscene  and  sacrilegious  rite. 

Mocking  at  religion,  the  more  fanatical 
had  thrown  off  every  vestige  of  decency 
and  indulged  in  Bacchanalian  worship  of 
a  so-called  "Goddess  of  Reason."  This 
was  a  lewd  female  from  the  Paris  half- 
world,  flower-chapleted,  flimsily  draped, 
prancing  in  drunken  frenzy  atop  a  table 
surrounded  by  her  "worshippers." 

The  Feast  of  Reason  included  hundreds 
of  revelers  grouped  around  the  open-air 
tables  for  the  "supper  of  Liberty,  Equality 
and  Fraternity,"  and  between  long  lines 
of  these  they  were  obliged  to  pass. 

"Drink  a  toast  to  the  Goddess!"  cried 
the  revelers,  offering  the  winecup  to  the 
victims. 

"Curses  on  them!"  said  others.  "Death 
is  too  good  for  vile  aristocrats." 

"Tra-la-la-la!"   sang  drunken  wenches, 


REPRIEVE  OR  AGONY         171 

"La  Guillotine  will  soon  hold  ye  in  her 
sharp  embrace — " 

The  blasphemy  of  burlesquing  a  far 
greater  Scene  of  Sorrows  occurred  to 
drunken  Carmagnole  dancers.  The  notion 
was  applauded,  carried  into  effect  at  once. 

A  tall  sansculotte  reached  over  betwixt 
the  guards  and  placed  a  Crown  of  Thorns 
on  the  girl's  brow.  Another  dashed  a  cup- 
ful of  vinegar  in  the  girl's  face. 

"Can't  you  see  she's  helpless?"  said  a 
centurion,  pointing  to  her  pinioned  arms. 
He  yanked  off  the  chaplet  and  threw  it 
back  in  the  crowd.  They  roared  with 
merriment  at  the  farce.  .  . 

But,  in  the  stable  yard  of  the  Northern 
cavalry,  Danton  from  a  horseblock  was 
addressing  the  fiery  spirits  who  knew  and 
loved  him. 

"Will  you  dare  with  Danton?"  he  cried. 
"Will  you  risk  Death  to  open  a  Nation's 
eyes?" 

The  head  Cavalryman  embraced  the 
Thunderer  and  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

"We  are  with  you  to  the  last  man — to 
the  last  ounce  of  our  strength  to  save  this 
girl  and  boy!"  he  said  while  the  others 
cheered. 


172    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

Danton  had  got  a  gallant  white  mount, 
the  Captain  was  on  a  noble  black  Arabian 
charger ;  the  others  had  leaped  astride  their 
ever  ready  army  steeds — the  ride  with  the 
reprieve  was  in  full  course! 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  FAREWELL 

Louise,  guided  by  her  faithful  attendant 
Pierre,  had  left  the  courtroom  directly 
after  the  condemnation.  Leaning  heavily 
upon  him,  the  blind  girl  had  staggered  out, 
oppressed  by  the  awful  knowledge  that  her 
sister  Henriette  was  doomed  to  die.  "Oh, 
take  me  to  her!"  she  had  cried. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do:  to  fol- 
low the  route  of  the  death  tumbrils,  in  the 
slight  hope  of  overtaking  her.  The  crippled 
Pierre  could  not  walk  fast,  and  the  steps 
of  Louise  had  to  be  most  carefully  directed. 
Now  and  again  Pierre  could  see  the  death 
carts  a  long  way  ahead,  he  tried  to  hasten 
their  steps,,  but  presently  the  transports 
of  death  were  out  of  sight  again. 

A  traffic  tie-up  and  street  delay  that 
halted  the  tumbrils  just  beyond  the  scene 
of  the  bacchanalian  Feast  of  Reason,  gave 
them  their  opportunity.  Here  the  revelers 
had  burlesqued  Henriette  as  the  "Woman 
of  Sorrows,"  and  here  the  guardsman  had 
thrown  off  the  chaplet  and  rebuked  the 
crowd. 


174    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

During  the  halt  Pierre  and  his  companion 
came  up  with  what  speed  they  could;  he 
led  Louise  to  the  back  of  the  death  cart, 
and  placed  her  hands  on  the  bound  and 
standing-  figure  of  poor  little  Henriette. 

"It  is  your  sister!"  said  Pierre  softly. 

Gently  the  blind  girl's  fingers  traveled 
up  to  the  wet  face  of  her  little  foster- 
mother,  now  bending  towards  her.  With 
a  handkerchief  Louise  tenderly  wiped  it, 
her  fingers  gave  loving  little  pats  of  the 
heaving  neck  and  bosom,  she  kissed  the 
stained  cheeks,  and  then  the  girls'  lips  met 
— met  long  and  passionately!  No  words 
were  spoken,  none  was  needed  for  a  re- 
union that  was  also  a  farewell. 

The  cart  moved.  The  loving  lips  were 
parted.  Now  one  might  see  Louise's  im- 
ploring arms  still  held  out  toward  the  sad 
receding  little  figure. 

It  was  indeed  a  busy  day  for  the  execu- 
tioners. Batches  of  men  and  women  pre- 
ceded Henriette  and  Maurice.  Two  of 
these  were  beautiful  young  girls  who,  in 
default  of  priest,  were  saying  the  last  of- 
fices of  the  Church  as  they  knelt  on  the 
bare  ground.  In  tragic  glory  Faith's  clear 


THE  FAREWELL  175 

credo  rang  out :  "/  am  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life;  he  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he 
were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live!" 

Their  lovely  heads  dropped  in  the  basket 
as  the  knitting  women  clicked  their  needles 
and  cried  "Two !"  Henriette,  with  a  physi- 
cal retch  at  the  sight,  fell  back  half-faint- 
ing on  Maurice.  Roughly  the  soldiers 
yanked  them  asunder. 

"Citizeness,  your  time  is  come!"  said 
one  of  the  brawny  butchers.  He  half  led, 
half  supported  her  up  the  steps  of  the 
guillotine.  .  . 

The  Chief  executioner  turned  Henriette 
about,  inspecting  her  fine  points  as  an 
equine  connoisseur  would  inspect  a  filly. 
He  gloated  over  her  not  yet  budded  form, 
the  swan-like  neck,  unlined  piquant  fea- 
tures, the  golden  head-curls  that  fell  in 
ringlets. 

"A  pretty  one — eh,  Jean?"  he  commented 
to  his  assistant. 

Between  the  two,  they  had  strapped  her 
unresisting  on  the  board.  They  lowered 
it  below  the  razor  edge  of  the  knife,  so 
that  she  lay  prone  with  her  neck  directly 
underneath.  The  finale  was  to  fasten  on 
the  neck  piece,  a  round-holed  cross  board 


176    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

which  prevented  the  head  from  drawing 
back.  .  . 

Alas !  what  avails  it  that  five  miles  away 
— in  the  heart  of  the  city — the  hoofbeats  of 
a  company  of  cavalry  resound  rhythmi- 
cally over  the  flagstones? 

Danton  and  his  Northern  riders  are 
straining  every  nerve,  galloping  their  steeds 
furiously — eyes  fixed  on  the  seeming-im- 
possible goal.  Rather  are  they  modern 
centaurs,  each  rider  and  steed  a  unit  of 
undivisible  will  and  energy:  Danton  a 
furious  resistless  hippogriff,  fire-striking, 
fire-exhaling,  in  unity  with  his  white 
charger;  the  lean-jawed,  sternly  set  Cap- 
tain on  his  lean  galloping  Arabian,  cycloni", 
onrushing  like  some  Spectral  Horseman; 
the  rest  riding  like  the  Valkyries — as  it 
were,  twixt  Heaven  and  earth — their  gal- 
loping beats  scorning  the  ground  as  they 
rush  by  to  the  hissing  of  the  cleaved  and 
angry  winds. 

But  what  avails  it?  ... 

Even  on  the  straightway  'twere  a  quar- 
ter-hour ride  to  the  outer-suburban  locality 
where  the  guillotine  does  its  dreadful 
work.  Ancient  Paris  with  its  tortuous 
streets  delays  them.  Ahead,  are  Jacques- 


THE  FAREWELL  177 

Forget-Not  —  Jacobin  troops  —  barriers — 
gates. 

Poor  little  Henriette's  golden  head! 

Is  it  not  fated  to  drop  in  the  basket  long, 
long  before  they  can  appear? 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MANIAC    WITH    A    DAGGER 

A  sansculotte  soldier,  less  brutal  than 
his  fellows,  had  allowed  Louise  and  Pierre 
to  approach  one  side  of  the  scaffold.  They 
were  more  privileged  than  the  frantic 
Picard,  who  could  not  get  near  his  young 
master  and  mistress.  Revolutionary  in- 
fantry guarded  every  side  of  the  public 
square.  Intermingled  among  them  were 
the  favored  hoodlums  of  the  Jacobin  party, 
execrating  the  victims  and  howling  with 
glee  whenever  the  dread  axe  fell. 

Among  the  riff-raff,  Mere  Frochard  and 
her  precious  son  Jacques  Frochard  were 
conspicuous.  For  no  particular  reason 
they  were  gloating  over  the  cutting-off  of 
aristocrats,  whilst  indulging  in  rough 
horseplay  at  the  expense  of  the  friends 
of  the  condemned.  Picard's  quaint  look  of 
helpless  sympathy  excited  ready  mirth. 

"Sniveling  over  those  good-for-nothings, 
eh?"  La  Frochard  curled  her  heavy 
moustachioed  lip  in  scorn. 

"We'll  find  a  way  to  make  that  sensitive 


MANIAC  WITH  A  DAGGER     179 

young  man  feel  something — "  she  confided 
to  Jacques.  A  moment  later  she  had  pulled 
over  a  sansculotte's  bayonet,  with  which 
she  executed  a  neat  jab  into  Picard's  an- 
atomy. 

Picard  leaped  in  the  air  like  a  jumping 
jack.  When  he  descended  to  earth  and 
turned  to  survey  the  cause  of  his  torment, 
he  faced  but  an  impassive  trooper  with 
weapon  at  parade  rest  and  the  grinning 
countenances  of  Mere  and  Jacques  Fro- 
chard,  convulsed  with  laughter. 

Picard  decided  the  vicinity  of  the  guillo- 
tine was  almost  as  dangerous  for  him  as 
for  his  master.  He  edged  out  of  range, 
biding  the  occasion  for  a  counter- 
thrust.  .  .  . 

Pierre  and  Louise  stood  on  the  other  side 
of  the  scaffold,  the  heavy  structure  of 
which  quite  hid  the  ruffian  Frochards  and 
their  horseplay  with  Picard. 

Henriette  had  been  borne  up  the  steps 
of  the  guillotine  a  few  moments  before 
Pierre  and  Louise  reached  the  scene.  The 
cripple,  terribly  excited,  was  telling  Louise 
of  Henriette's  being  strapped  to  the  board 
and  shoved  toward  the  knife  vent. 


180    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

"That  big  murderer  is  going  to  kill 
her!"  hissed  Pierre. 

Louise's  blind  features  became  con- 
torted with  agony.  Large  tear  drops  fell 
from  her  eyes.  Both  arms  were  extended 
toward  her  sister  above,  then  clawed  con- 
vulsively at  Pierre. 

"They  -  have  -  put  -  her  -  head  -  in  -  the 
crossboard-and  —  oh,  oh!  —  fastened-it- 
down! 

"The-executioner-is-all-ready."  Pierre 
was  gesticulating  like  a  madman.  He 
seemed  to  be  raising  despairing  hands  to 
high  Heaven,  in  token  of  helplessness. 

Above — around — everywhere,  he  looked 
for  succor;  found  none.  A  glance  from 
Henriette's  doomed  form  to  Louise's  bitter 
anguish  converts  him  into  a  maniac. 

"HE'S  ASKING  THE  MASTER  FOR 
THE  SIGNAL  TO  PULL  THE  ROPE!" 

Pierre  shouts  the  words  in  a  fury  that 
is  rapidly  growing  uncontrollable.  Spec- 
tators for  the  first  time  notice  his  strange 
actions.  But  neither  the  expectant  execu- 
tioner nor  the  self-important  master  of 
ceremonial  looks  down,  or  distinguishes  the 
cry  in  the  babel  of  savage  sounds. 

The  wild  youth  now  disengages  himself 


MANIAC  WITH  A  DAGGER     181 

from  Louise's  clutch.  With  his  right  hand 
he  pulls  a  dagger  from  his  hip  pocket. 
Look!  As  the  master's  signalling  hand  is 
upraised  high  and  begins  to  lower,  the  boy 
leaps  up  the  steps  of  the  guillotine,  and 
attacks  the  executioner  whose  fingers  are 
already  on  the  death  rope.  .  . 

Ride  on  yet  more  fiercely,  O  Danton 
and  ye  fierce  Cavalrymen — ride  on,  e'en 
past  the  barrier,  if  Jacques-Forget-Not  and 
his  men  do  not  stay  thee.  Yes,  thank  God ! 
there  may  yet  be  time,  should  this  maniac 
with  the  dagger  provide  sufficient  respite! 

.  .  .  The  brawny  butcher  is  too  aston- 
ished to  defend  himself.  His  nerveless 
fingers  are  no  longer  on  the  rope;  he 
stands  like  a  stalled  ox  in  front  of  his  homi- 
cidal assailant.  With  the  rapidity  of 
lightning  Pierre  plunges  his  long  Provencal 
dirk  in  the  executioner's  -side.  The 
butchered  butcher  falls  with  a  single  bawl- 
ing outcry  and  a  groan.  The  crowd  is 
thunderstruck,  and  the  pinioned  de  Vaudrey 
is  wild  with  joy.  Though  bound  and 
helpless,  he  tries  to  leap  up  to  his  prostrate 
Henriette. 

But  the  master  of  ceremonial,  at  first  too 
panic-stricken  to  intervene,  now  summons 


182    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

the  sansculotte  guards  from  the  ground  be- 
low. Up  the  steps  on  the  double-quick 
they  rush  with  fixed  bayonets.  As  the 
huge  victim  falls  back  into  the  arms  of  his 
assistant,  the  bayoneting  soldiers  corner  the 
dirk-waving  Pierre. 

The  brief  contest  is  quite  unequal.  In 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  one  of  the 
men  plunges  his  bright,  long  steel  in 
Pierre's  side.  The  latter  falls  like  a  lump 
of  clay  on  the  scaffold  flooring.  Several 
of  the  bayonets  speed  toward  the  inert 
lump,  with  the  intent  on  the  part  of  their 
owners  to  fling  the  body  contemptuously 
from  the  scaffold  to  the  floor. 

But  a  more  refined  cruelty  speaks :  "Save 
him  for  the  guillotine!"  The  soldiers 
leave  the  crumpled-up,  desperately  wounded 
Pierre,  dooming  him  yet  to  taste  La  Guillo- 
tine's embrace.  They  subdue  de  Vaudrey 
and  truss  him  up  anew. 

The  roars  of  the  crowd  die  down.  Com- 
parative order  is  again  restored.  The 
master  of  ceremonial,  having  recovered 
the  habit  of  command,  orders  Jean,  the 
remaining  executioner,  to  complete  the 
stricken  one's  job. 

Fortunately  for  our  heroine   under  the 


W.   If-'.  Griffith's  'Orphans  of  I  he  Storm") 

HENRIETTE  SAVED  FROM  THE  GUILLOTINE'S  KNIFE. 


MANIAC  WITH  A  DAGGER     183 

knife,  the  second  executioner  is  slow  and 
awkward.  He  has  seen  butchery  come 
quite  too  close  to  his  own  flesh!  Still 
somewhat  unnerved,  he  prepares  himself 
for  the  task  with  clumsy  movements  and 
halting  fingers.  The  master  bids  him 
hurry — Jean  takes  his  time,  he's  not  going 
to  bungle  the  job.  .  . 

As  the  supreme  moment  nears,  it  is  well 
that  we  should  note  what  is  happening  with 
Danton  and  his  Centaurs — 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

DANTON'S    RIDERS 

About  half  way  of  the  journey  through 
the  City,  Jacques-Forget-Not  and  his  men 
take  up  a  stand  in  front  of  the  onrushing 
cavalry. 

They  wave  orders  and  prohibitions. 

They  yell  to  the  horsemen  to  draw  rein. 

Resistlessly  the  troopers  keep  their  car- 
eering course — the  talk  and  gestures'  are 
but  as  the  East  Wind  to  tensed  Danton, 
stern-set  Captain,  and  the  rest. 

Forget-Not's  tribe  escape  the  deadly 
horse  hoofs  by  quick  side  jumps. 

Within  the  next  few  minutes — even 
while  the  head  executioner  is  making  the 
little  victim  ready — Danton  and  his  riders 
reach  the  barrier  on  the  Guillotine  side  of 
Paris.  Orders  had  already  been  received 
to  close  the  gates  at  the  cavalry's  approach. 

"Quick!  there  is  not  a  moment  to  lose," 
yells  the  Jacobin  commander  as  he  sights 
the  oncoming  host.  He  hastens  to  deploy 
his  soldiers  with  spears  and  pikes  across 
the  barrier,  whilst  the  keepers  bring  the 
heavy  gates  to. 


DANTON'S  RIDERS  185 

The  barred  gates  and  the  opposing 
fighters  threaten  to  dash  Danton's  every 
hope  of  saving  by  reprieve  his  "dear  one 
of  treasured  memory."  Indeed,  as  we 
have  seen,  but  for  frenzied  Pierre's  mania- 
cal slaughter  of  the  headsman,  the  fatal 
blow  would  now  be  falling!  Neither  Danton 
nor  his  men,  of  course,  know  that.  Theirs 
to  struggle  on,  to  confront  and  conquer 
fortune,  never  to  despair!  Within  those 
iron  souls  is  no  such  thought  as  "Defeat." 

Hurrah! 

One  foremost  rider  has  managed  to 
squeeze  through  the  mighty  gates  before 
they  clang.  Danton  and  the  rest  of  his 
men  face  a  small  army  on  the  closed  bar- 
rier's City  side. 

The  superb  horses  would  charge  against 
a  stone  wall  if  bade  to!  They  charge 
against  the  living  wall  of  foot  soldiers; 
kicking,  pounding,  trampling  in  the  narrow 
space,  while  the  riders  strike. 

Some  footmen  perish  under  the  hoofs. 
Others  save  themselves  by  leaping,  scramb- 
ling out  over  the  side  parapets.  The  at- 
tack become  a  rout.  Hip-hip-hurrah !  The 
lone  rider  on  the  guillotine  side  has  suc- 
ceeded in  unloosing  the  bar.  The  gates 


186    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

fly  open.  Danton's  cavalry  dash  madly 
down  the  straight  and  unobstructed  road 
that  leads  to  the  Place  de  la  Execution, 
still  a  few  furlongs  distant ! 

Can  they  even  yet  save  her  ?  For  now  it 
would  appear  as  if  the  supremely  tragical 
moment  might  anticipate  them — by 
seconds ! 

During*  the  final  furlongs — the  execu- 
tioner now  in  readiness — Henriette  looks 
up  with  gaping  mouth  at  the  awful  knife 
edge.  A  terrible  cry  escapes  her.  Wracked 
with  agony,  she  gazes  about  at  the  sea  of 
hostile  faces — not  one  stray  iota  of  sym- 
pathy in  that  Dark  Hour.  Missing  is  de 
Vaudrey,  missing  the  loved  blind  sister! 
As  the  down-dropping  gesture  of  Death  is 
again  begun  by  the  grim  master  of  cere- 
monial, Henriette  with  a  low  cry  of 
"Louise!"  shuts  eyes  and  drops  head  to 
receive  the  stroke ! 

But  the  clatter  of  myriad  hoofbeats  as- 
sails the  Master's  ears;  the  hoarse  cries  of 
Danton's  riders,  and  the  astonished  roars 
of  the  populace.  His  hand  falters.  He 
turns  to  look  at  the  tumult.  The  execu- 
tioner takes  his  hand  off  the  rope. 

The  cavalrymen  are  dashing  down  the 


DANTON'S  RIDERS  187 

roadway,  from  which  quick  clearance  has 
been  made  by  the  sansculotte  guards  and 
the  loaferish  spectators.  At  their  head 
gallops  Danton,  the  Thunderer  of  old, 
thundering  at  the  officials,  waving  in  his 
free  hand  a  State  paper ! 

In  front  of  the  death  machine  he  halts 
and  dismounts — then  taking  the  steps  in 
two  bounds,  puts  the  reprieve  of  Henriette 
and  Maurice  in  the  hands  of  the  master  of 
ceremonial! 

The  Savior  of  France — the  Organizer  of 
Victory — brings  such  a  show  of  power  at 
his  back  and  compels  such  respect  that 
none  dare  question  him.  He  strides  to  the 
guillotine,  bades  the  trembling  executioner 
release  Henriette — himself  personally  un- 
straps her  from  the  death  board.  So  en- 
sues a  scene  that  would  wring  even  a  heart 
of  stone:  the  delivery  of  a  demented  girl 
from  Death's  very  passion  and  utmost 
pang! 

Danton  takes  the  little  form  in  his  arms, 
looks  in  her  eyes,  kisses  her  and  tries  to 
make  her  understand. 

"For  the  honor  of  France,"  he  cries  to 
the  assembled  multitude,  as  he  still  up- 
holds her  swaying  figure,  "a  monstrous  in- 


188    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

justice  is  righted.  This  girl,  and  that  young 
patriot,"  signifying  to  the  attendants  that 
de  Vaudrey  should  be  unloosed,  "are  re- 
prieved by  the  order  of  the  Revolutionary 
Tribunal!"  The  multitude— caught  by 
Danton's  tensely  dramatic,  announcement — 
applauds,  even  as  it  had  jeered  and  mocked 
a  few  moments  since. 

But  the  girl,  kept  from  falling  by  his  pro- 
tective left  arm,  still  gazes  upon  him  idioti- 
cally. She  had  died,  was  it  not  true  ?  How 
then,  she  lives?  What  are  these  crowds, 
and  who  is  this  stranger?  The  gallant 
rescuer  fears  that  her  reason  is  gone ! 

"Release  that  boy!" 

He  has  seen  the  wounded  Pierre  trussed 
in  the  far  corner  of  the  scaffold,  guessed 
that  some  wild  deed  of  the  lad's  stayed  the 
judicial  murder.  His  tones  to  the  officials 
are  sharp,  imperative.  The  outraged  su- 
perior of  the  hacked  executioner  looks 
around  the  assemblage  for  some  prop  of 
resistance — finds  none — trembles — and  is 
all  bows  and  scrapes  to  do  Danton's  will. 
Pierre  crawls  painfully  across  the  platform. 
He  kisses  the  hem  of  his  Savior's  garment. 

Danton  has  brought  Henriette  to  the 
ground.  He  is  looking  for  her  friends  now. 


DANTON'S  RIDERS  189 

Catching  sight  of  blind  Louise  starting  up 
the  steps,  he  brings  her  around  and  puts  the 
loved  sisters  in  front  of  one  another.  .  . 
Slowly  the  light  of  understanding  comes 
into  the  eyes  of  her  who  had  most  loved 
and  most  suffered.  She  embraces  Louise 
.  .  .  Danton  is  looking  for  yet  another 
figure,  the  affianced  of  Henriette.  He 
draws  over  de  Vaudrey,  places  the  latter's 
right  hand  within  the  free  hand  of 
Henriette. 

"Take  her,"  he  says  kindly  to  de  Vaudrey. 
"It  is  enough  for  me  that  I  have  saved 
France  from  this  foul  blot !  .  .  ." 

.  .  .  Down  in  the  crowd,  too,  the  for- 
tunes of  war  have  changed.  The  wicked 
Frochards,  who  have  been  egging  on  the 
crowds  to  jeer  the  victims,  have  become 
distinctly  unpopular.  It  is  Picard's  turn  to 
jest  the  Frochards  now. 

A  grenadier  offers  a  little  friendly  assis- 
tance with  the  bayonet,  pricking  the  old 
hag  in  a  tender  part  as  if  by  accident. 
She  jumps  and  squeals.  Sly  Picard  watches 
another  chance,  shoves  forward  his  friend's 
bayonet  to  prick  her  again. 

.  .  .  Both  she  and  her  precious  Jacques 
the  Good-for-Nothing  take  it  on  the  run, 


190    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

enduring  the  buffets  of  the  railing  soldiery. 
Yes,  Picard — our  genial  rogue  of  a  body 
servant — gets  in  the  last  bayonet  pricks  and 
body  wallops  of  this  story ! 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  AFTERMATH 

Danton  later  suffered  the  dark  hour  and 
the  snapping  of  Life's  thread  through 
Robespierre's  cruelty,  but  the  glory  of  that 
valiant  soul  is  eternal. 

His  plea  for  the  ways  of  Mercy — his  gal- 
lant deeds  (like  this  particular  one)  of  risk- 
ing all  for  the  life  of  a  friend — were  as 
signposts  to  bewildered  humanity.  He 
foresaw  the  precipice  down  which  the  Ter- 
rorists were  headed  for  the  pit : 

"This  time  twelvemonth  I  was  moving 
the  creation  of  that  same  Revolutionary 
Tribunal.  I  crave  pardon  for  it  of  God  and 
man.  They  are  all  Brothers  Cain — I  leave 
the  whole  business  in  a  frightful  welter. 
Robespierre  will  follow  me;  I  drag  down 
Robespierre !" 

Of  a  verity,  the  following  Thermidor  or 
hot  July  saw  the  fate  come  true.  Univer- 
sally execrated,  the  Tyrant  was  himself 
dragged  down  and  guillotined.  Fell  with 
him  the  rest  of  the  murdering  crew.  Black 
hatred — foul  suspicion — wicked  vengeance 
vanished  like  departing  plagues- 


192    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

There  dawned  happier  days  wherein  jus- 
tice bore  sway,  and  little  gardens  of  flowers 
and  love  and  happiness  again  sprang  up 
and  flourished.  Among  these  blooming 
gardens  let  us  seek  the  refuge  of  Count  and 
Countess  de  Linieres  after  the  Storm  has 
abated  and  the  kinsfolk  it  has  sundered  are 
united.  The  sisters  of  our  story  are  their 
especial  care,  daughter  and  foster-daughter 
of  the  exquisite  chatelaine. 

Young  Maurice  de  Vaudrey  is  their  pride. 
The  old  gentleman  has  reconciled  himself 
to  the  passing  of  the  Ancient  Regime,  and 
through  his  nephew's  good  office  has  made 
his  peace  with  the  State. 

On  a  bright  and  beautiful  day  as  Hen- 
riette  is  flitting  about  the  garden,  the 
Doctor — none  other  than  our  old  friend  of 
La  Force — comes  with  a  precious  gift. 

"The  removal  of  the  cataract  has  been 
successful,"  he  says,  presenting  Louise.  "Is 
it  not  a  joy  that  she  can  see?" 

The  girls  intertwine  arms  and  laugh  hap- 
pily. The  parents  approach.  Henriette 
and  Louise  embrace  the  Count,  now  their 
foster  parent  and  protector.  Back  of  the 
Count  limps  the  devoted  Pierre,  now  fully 
restored  from  his  old  hurt  of  the  bayonet 


THE  AFTERMATH  193 

thrust.  Pierre  is  to  be  the  Countess's 
especial  care. 

That  lovely  lady  has  received  her  daugh- 
ter Louise  within  her  arms,  a  daughter  who 
for  the  first  time  can  look  upon  the  mother 
of  whose  loving  care  she  was  deprived  for 
a  score  of  years.  In  a  few  moments  Hen- 
riette  summons  her  sister  to  her  side  as  a 
young  man,  whom  we  should  all  recognize, 
joins  the  little  company. 

"Allow  me  to  present  to  your  new  eyes 
Monsieur  Maurice  de  Vaudrey — "  then 
with  a  shy  smile  and  a  glance  back  and 
forth,  Henriette  adds: 

"Do  you  approve  of  him?" 

Recurs  the  memory  of  that  almost  for- 
gotten incident  in  the  Normandy  home — 
Henriette's  promise  to  stay  single  till  the 
blind  sister  should  win  sight  and  approve 
the  suitor.  Louise  is  so  happy  that  she  de- 
cides to  tease.  She  is  about  to  shake  her 
small  head  and  her  lips  to  frame  "NO!" 
But  in  another  moment  she  uses  her  new 
gift  to  inspect  the  marvelous  young  man  of 
whose  perfections  she  had  so  often  heard. 

She  looks  at  Maurice  from  top  to  toe; 
the  shapely  head  covered  with  luxuriant 
locks,  the  fine  brown  eyes,  the  Apollo  fea- 


194    ORPHANS  OF  THE  STORM 

tures  comely  yet  sensitive,  the  elegant  form, 
small  hands  and  feet,  the  graceful  and 
chivalrous  carriage — the  MAN  who  is 
looking  at  her  with  a  kindly  affectionate 
smile.  Really,  Henriette  hadn't  told  her 
half  enough!  She  clasps  her  sister  with 
one  hand,  Maurice  with  the  other,  cries: 
"YES!" 

We  may  leave  our  hero  and  heroine 
there — as  Louise  and  the  oldsters  presently 
left  them — to  taste  the  exquisite  happiness 
of  mutual  love.  For  Love  is  stronger  than 
Death,,  and  must  prevail.  And  the  kisses 
of  Maurice  and  Henriette  blotted  out  all 
the  wrack  and  nightmare  of  the  "Orphans 
of  the  Storm!" 

THE  END 


EDGAR  RICE  BURROUGH'S 
NOVELS 

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TARZAN  THE  UNTAMED 

Tells  of  Tarzan's  return  to  the  life  of  the  ape-man  in 
his  search  for  vengeance  on  those  who  took  from  him  his 
wife  and  home. 

JUNGLE  TALES  OF  TARZAN 

Records  the  many  wonderful  exploits  by  which  Tarzan 
proves  his  right  to  ape  kingship. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  MARS 

Forty-three  million  miles  from  the  earth — a  succession 
of  the  weirdest  and  most  astounding  adventures  in  fiction. 
John  Carter,  American,  finds  himself  on  the  planet  Mars, 
battling  for  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  Green  Men  o( 
Mars,  terrible  creatures  fifteen  feet  high,  mounted  on 
horses  like  dragons. 

THE  GODS  OF  MARS 

Continuing  John  Carter' s  adventures  on  the  Planet  Mars, 
in  which  he  does  battle  against  the  ferocious  "plant  men," 
creatures  whose  mighty  tails  swished  their  victims  to  instant 
death,  and  defies  Issus,  the  terrible  Goddess  of  Death, 
whom  all  Mars  worships  and  reveres. 

THE  WARLORD  OF  MARS 

Old  acquaintances,  made  in  the  two  other  stories,  reap- 
pear, Tars  Tarkas,  Tardos  Mors  and  others.  There  is  a 
happy  ending  to  the  story  in  the  union  of  the  Warlord, 
the  title  conferred  upon  John  Carter,  with  Dejah  Thoris. 

THUVIA,  MAID  OF  MARS 

The  fourth  volume  of  the  series.  The  story  centers 
around  the  adventures  of  Carthoris,  the  son  of  John  Car- 
ter and  Thuvia,  daughter  of  a  Martian  Emperor. 

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THE  WHITE  LADIES  OF  WORCESTER 

A  novel  of  the  12th  Century.  The  heroine,  believing  she 
had  lost  her  lover,  enters  a  convent  He  returns,  and  in- 
teresting developments  follow. 

THE  UPAS  TREE 

A  love  story  of  rare  charm.  It  deals  with  a  successful 
author  and  his  wife. 

THROUGH  THE  POSTERN  GATE 

The  story  of  a  seven  day  courtship,  in  which  the  dis- 
crepancy in  ages  vanished  into  insignificance  before  the 
convincing  demonstration  of  abiding  love. 

THE  ROSARY 

The  story  of  a  young  artist  who  is  reputed  to  love  beauty 
above  all  else  in  the  world,  but  who,  when  blinded  through 
an  accident,  gains  life's  greatest  happiness.  A  rare  story 
of  the  great  passion  of  two  real  people  superbly  capable  of 
love,  its  sacrifices  and  its  exceeding  reward. 
THE  MISTRESS  OF  SHENSTONE 

The  lovely  young  Lady  Ingleby,  recently  widowed  by  the 
death  of  a  husband  who  never  understood  her,  meets  a  fine, 
clean  young  chap  who  is  ignorant  of  her  title  and  they  fall 
deeply  in  love  with  each  other.  When  he  learns  her  real 
identity  a  situation  of  singular  power  is  developed. 

THE  BROKEN  HALO 

The  story  of  a  young  man  whose  religious  belief  was 
shattered  in  childhood  and  restored  to  him  by  the  little 
white  lady,  many  years  older  than  himself,  to  whom  he  is 
passionately  devoted. 

THE  FOLLOWING  OF  THE  STAR 

The  story  of  a  young  missionary,  who,  about  to  start  for 
Africa,  marries  wealthy  Diana  Rivers,  in  order  to  help  her 
fulfill  the  conditions  of  her  uncle's  will,  and  how  they  finally 
come  to  love  each  other  and  are  reunited  after  experiences 
that  soften  and  purify. 

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ETHEL    M.    DELL'S    NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  ft  Dunlap's  list. 

THE  LAMP  IN  THE  DESERT 

The  scene  of  this  splendid  story  is  kid  in  India  and 
tells  of  the  lamp  of  love  that  continues  to  shine  through 
all  sorts  of  tribulations  to  final  happiness. 

GREATHEART 

The  story  of  a  cripple  whose  deformed  body  conceals 
a  noble  soul. 

THE  HUNDREDTH  CHANCE 

A  hero  who  worked  to  win  even  when  there  was  only 
c*  a  hundredth  chance.'* 

THE  SWINDLER 

The  story  of  a  "bad  man's"  soul  revealed  by  a 
woman's  faith. 

THE  TIDAL  WAVE 

Tales  of  love  and  of  women  who  learned  to  know  the 
true  from  the  false. 

THE  SAFETY  CURTAIN 

A  very  vivid  love  story  of  India.  The  volume  also 
contains  four  other  long  stories  of  equal  interest. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


ELEANOR  H.  PORTER'S  NOVELS 

Kay  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Brosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

JUST  DAVID 

The  tale  of  a  loveable  boy  and  the  place  he  comes  to 
fill  in  the  hearts  of  the  gruff  farmer  folk  to  whose  care  he 
is  left. 

THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING 

A  compelling  romance  of  love  and  marriage. 
OH,  MONEY  !  MONEY  ! 

Stanley  Fulton,  a  wealthy  bachelor,  to  test  the  disposi- 
tions of  his  relatives,  sends  them  each  a  check  for  $100,- 
000,  and  then  as  plain  John  Smith  comes  among  them  to 
watch  the  result  of  his  experiment. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH 

A  wholesome  story  of  a  club  of  six  girls  and  their  sum- 
mer on  Six  Star  Ranch. 

DAWN 

The  story  of  a  blind  boy  whose  courage  leads  him 
through  the  gulf  of  despair  into  a  final  victory  gained  by 
dedicating  his  life  to  the  service  of  blind  soldiers. 

ACROSS  THE  YEARS 

Short  stories  of  our  own  kind  and  of  our  own  people. 
Contains  some  of  the  best  writing  Mrs.  Porter  has  done. 

THE  TANGLED  THREADS 

In  these  stories  we  find  the  concentrated  charm  and 
tenderness  of  all  her  other  books. 

THE  TIE  THAT  BINDS 

Intensely  human  stories  told  with  Mrs.  Porter's  vron- 
derful  talent  for  warm  and  vivid  character  drawing. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NE^V 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


FEB  15191 


1 


NOV061989 

REC'D  LD-URt 

JUNl  7  1989 

REC'D  LD-! 


Rl 


04 


V' 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


